If Blood Be The Price
by Cadence
Summary: Struck by visions of a slave uprising on Tatooine, Anakin runs away to join the fight. Five years later, it his new alliance of former slave worlds that the Republic fears, rather than a Separatist threat. Enlisted to negotiate a peace treaty, Senator Amidala is dispatched to find Anakin, alongside Obi-Wan Kenobi, who only wishes to bring his former Padawan home.
1. Chapter 1

_Five Years Ago_

Anakin dreamed of blood and sand and the burning heat of two suns.

This will happen, the Force whispered to him. There was a crackle of tension in the air, shivering across his skin. The hot desert air did nothing to warm him as he looked into the deep, sad brown eyes of his mother.

Mos Espa, as he'd never seen it: filled with people, slaves, an angry and feverish light in their eyes.

Shmi stood in a crowd, tall and unbroken. Blood seeped from her neck, staining the collar of her rough shirt. It dripped a long line down her dress to sand already stained red. Someone had fallen before her.

He was not there. That was what Anakin knew.

The intent and certainty of the Force stretched from Tatooine to Coruscant, carrying the tension of revolution.

His mother spoke quietly, with stern defiance that clutched at his heart, even as the winds stole the words away. An electrowhip cracked out against her and Shmi brought her arm up in a clumsy defense. She fell to her knees with a cry.

And he was not there to help her, to stand by her side.

Anakin woke with a jerk, shivering against the cold sweat soaking through his sleep shirt. His breathing was harsh in his own ears, too loud for the small space of his room. Impossibly loud. Anakin suppressed a groan, clenching his jaw and pushing frustrated fists against his eyes.

Nightmares were not new. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't a child and he didn't need to wake Obi-wan, bringing him running to chide him about releasing his emotions into the Force. They aren't new, he repeated to himself. This isn't special.

But it wasn't a nightmare. It was a vision, clearer and truer than he'd ever had before.

They were fighting and dying on Tatooine, and instead of helping, Anakin was here in the Jedi Temple, dreaming stupid, useless dreams. I promised you, Mom, Anakin thought. I promised I'd come free you.

Anakin felt the Force shudder. Slowly, his breathing evened out. He dropped his hands into his lap, staring up at the smooth, featureless ceiling.

The mark on his mother's neck, the wound, unclear in his dream. He knew what it meant. It was the same as the phantom itch on his own neck, the tiny incision that had left no scar but the one in his mind. His slave tracker.

Mom is free, he thought in wonder. She'd freed herself, at her own risk and pain.

The thought spurred him to action.

He jumped from his bed, stripping off his cold, sweaty clothes and changing into his robes. After he crashed into the wall, hopping on one foot to get his boot on, he jerked to a halt, eyes wide as he waited for Obi-Wan to walk in, demanding to know what in the Force he thought he was doing. But Obi-Wan remained peacefully asleep despite the commotion and Anakin never had to explain himself. He almost wished he did.

He was running away and there was no one who could stop him.

The Jedi had told him to forget his mother; she had told him to never look back. They were both wrong, Anakin was more certain than ever. Obi-Wan would call for caution, but that was the same as inaction. Anakin shivered in his dark room, eyes wide and wild as he tried to work through the muddle of his emotions. He had no sort of plan, just pure impulse and the guidance of the Force.

But wasn't that enough? What else did he even need?

His mother's freedom had changed everything,

Without another thought, Anakin snapped up his lightsaber, hooking it to his belt.

He spared a look toward Obi-Wan's room as he snuck out of their shared apartment. He felt carefully through the Force, as subtly as he was capable of being. As long as Obi-Wan didn't wake up, he had a chance of making it out of the Temple.

In the five years since Anakin had come to live at the Jedi Temple, he'd learned a lot about sneaking out. First, it had been for the pit races, then for swoops in electrified generator corridors. Last week, it had actually just been to visit a junk salesman of a particularly shady reputation who was selling more interesting starship parts than the Jedi would let Anakin have access to. He knew the halls well and which apartments to divert around. Quinlan Vos wasn't on Coruscant right now, but when he was, he usually stayed up too late for Anakin to risk passing by his quarters. Mace Windu was too sensitive and suspicious of Anakin for him to go that direction, even if Mace was dead asleep. Siri 's rooms, on the other hand, were generally safe. Good Jedi slept deeply in the halls of the Temple.

Boots squeaking softly on the stone floors, Anakin made his way, level by level, to the Temple hangars. In the back of his mind, he could feel Obi-Wan. Disquiet was beginning to set in on his master, though not yet enough to wake him.

It would be tricky, Anakin knew, to get off planet. It was one thing to leave the temple in a speeder and another thing entirely to requisition a ship without his master. And, he realized, without clearance from Coruscant space traffic control. He glanced up, uncannily looking in the direction of where Obi-Wan turned restlessly, sleep becoming fitful. If he asked for Obi-Wan's help, then it could be an official mission instead.

Anakin bit his lip, looking back down as his boots. They were scuffed and beaten up from their last mission, infiltrating a spice smuggling ring pushing for territory near Rodia. In between mission reports and debriefings, he hadn't had time yet to polish away the marks.

Even if Obi-Wan believed his visions and even if the Council believed Obi-Wan, it would be days before they got approval to leave. If the Council even gave the mission to them. They'd probably decide Master Siri and Ferus were more qualified and that Anakin was emotionally comprised.

Anakin narrowed his eyes at the thought. Involving the Council was the worst possible idea. He'd just have to go by himself. It was what the Force was guiding him to do.

He'd flown through worse than the CSTC could throw at him, anyway.

The hangar entrance opened under Anakin's hand. It was unlocked, a symbol of perfect trust, regardless of how often he violated it. Slowly, the banks of lights overhead thrummed to life, chasing the shadows in slow waves, illuminating the enormous space. There was another hangar on the other side of the temple, and smaller landing bays in the towers above, but Anakin was not interested in the small skiffs that alighted near the Council chamber, nor the big transport ships in the primary hangar.

He was looking for something a little sleeker and much faster. Anakin let a half smile cross his face. Urgent or not, he couldn't help but appreciate the sheer wealth of choice in front of him.

The Jedi had so many resources and so many friends. Even with their appropriations budget from the Senate restricted more and more, the Jedi had dozens of starfighters that could easily blend into a royal fleet or a war lord's battered battle group.

Anakin walked through the fighters, fingertips skimming the side of an N-1, a gift from Queen Amidala five years ago. He shook his head to himself, forcing himself away. He would love to take it, a beautiful and deadly craft that he hadn't gotten to know nearly well enough. But he was going to Tatooine. And, hopefully, he was coming back, too. He didn't need something the Jawas would tear to scrap on sight and especially not a ship it would break his heart to lose.

His eyes settled on a dingy, beat up Delta-6. Large strips of paint had scraped off in an unpleasant landing and carbon scoring outlined the cockpit, but it looked space worthy. The engine outputs were clean and the hatch looked like it sealed.

Anakin vaulted up into the cockpit, hands running over the control panel. He'd have to get into the Delta-6's guts to know for sure, but his instincts were telling him that the fighter would get him home. It would manage at least that much. He looked over to the open hangar entrance, flicking his fingers at the door to close it, and licked his lower lip in anticipation.

This was it. He ran through the power up sequence, picking up the control headset wedged between the seat and the exterior panel. He was already plotting the course in his mind. He'd need the astrocomputer for the calculations, but there wasn't a day that had passed since coming to Coruscant where Anakin had not traced out the best route back home.

It was supposed to be here, he thought with sudden anger. He banged a fist against the control panel, leg kicking out. He winced as his knee connected with the envirodiagnostics and he glared at that panel. The Temple was supposed to be his new home, the Jedi his family.

They will be, he decided. He just had to take care of something first, make sure mom was safe, and bring her back with him. He should have done that to begin with.

His anger faded and Anakin was left with the dull throb in his left knee.

The systems were hot. Anakin exhaled slowly, closing his eyes and reaching out for the controls inside the hangar. He frowned, drawing his brows together as he struggled. The layout was sort of different from the tower bay that he normally swiped a speeder from. But not that different. Anakin cracked his eyes open, grinning as he found the security controls.

Perfect trust. You know, he thought idly, I thought they knew me by now.

He toggled the light, semi-permeable force field off, resetting its timer, and opened the bay doors.

"Coruscant Control, this is Jedi Skywalker," Anakin said, thumbing the comm. He spoke carefully, doing his best to avoid pubescent cracks in his voice. It mostly worked.

"Control acknowledge," returned a bored droid voice. The Temple channel had priority second only to the Senate's, but even they didn't merit a live being at this time in the district's night cycle.

"Coordinates sent, Control. Awaiting ascent window." He transmitted the standard Jedi security clearance codes alongside the coordinates, hoping the droid wasn't interested in his personal, ranked codes. He made no mention of approval for an unscheduled flight. He didn't need to give the droid any ideas if it wasn't already thinking that.

"Flight plan unfiled," the droid said. Kriff, Anakin swore to himself. Of course, it was the paperwork the droid cared about, not the security issue. "Delay your ascent and refile."

"Negative, control. It is a classified Jedi matter."

Anakin could hear whirring over the line. He prepped the engines. He was out of here, regardless of what a dumb, preprogrammed droid thought.

"Provisional approval." Anakin bit back his cheer. Instead he eased the Delta-6 up from the hangar floor, hand a light touch on the throttle. "Refile within forty eight hours, under penalty. Notice is served. The penalty of six nights in security custody and/or a fine of one thousand Republic Credits will be executed if false claims are proven."

It wouldn't be false by the time Anakin was back, so that wasn't a real concern.

"Understood, Control. And thanks," he added. It was nearly impossible to hide his elation.

Control didn't so much as thank him, though. Badly programmed, Anakin decided. And probably wiped too often to know better. The ascent flightpath flitted across Anakin's display screen. It would lead him directly to the orbital cluster of Jedi starfighter hyperspace boosters. Anakin frowned at the coordinates with faint surprise. It really shouldn't be so easy to gain access to those.

The Force was with him, he decided as he carefully piloted the Delta-6 out of the Temple, hitting the control marks with far more intent and concern than he would under normal circumstances. Fly straight, he told himself. No flourishes.

Coruscanti traffic never stopped, but it was thinner at this time of night. Anakin joined the sparse line of starships queued to fly off planet. The quiet anonymity made his mission feel more real, more official. He'd done this so many times. No one knew he was a thief and a runaway.

Anakin was in the thin upper atmosphere when Obi-Wan awakened. He knew because that was precisely when CTSC vessels started tailing him, bombarding his systems with deterrent messages.

He flipped the Delta-6, pulling a near instantaneous vertical turn to buzz the nearest ship. It wobbled, a spark of fear lighting up in the Force as the pilot reacted in shock.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan's voice fuzzed in over the comm. "Stop this."

There was a weariness to his voice – and it wasn't sleep deprivation. He thinks this is a game, Anakin thought with a scowl. That I'm doing this for fun.

"Master, you'll understand later. I have to go."

The CTSC ships swooped in again, keeping a cautious distance. One attempted a wing waggle, testing to see how hostile Anakin was.

He hadn't been until now. Impulsively, he powered up his weapons systems. The CTSC ships broke from his path, regrouping behind him. They didn't have real weapons, but that didn't mean they wouldn't harry him into a crash if necessary.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan sounded entirely scandalized. "Power down those weapons this instant."

Grudgingly, Anakin did. Really, that hadn't been his best plan.

There was muttering over the line. Anakin had the impression that Obi-Wan was keeping up simultaneous calls. Definitely one to traffic control, but also probably one directly to the Coruscant system defense irregulars, trying to stop them from blowing him out of the sky.

After a long, stressful moment, Obi-Wan resumed their conversation.

"Go?" he asked softly. "Anakin, where do you think you need to go? I'll come with you."

Anakin felt a twist in his chest. He said that now, but as soon as he knew...

"She needs me. My mom is in trouble," Anakin said. He bit out the words, hoping Obi-Wan wouldn't react the way he knew he would.

Even at this distance, Anakin did not think he imagined the ripples of fear and disapproval he felt from Obi-Wan. He took the Delta-6 up higher, breaking the atmosphere and gliding safely past the weather control satellites.

"Anakin, you cannot leave now! You cannot abandon your training. We have accomplished so much already, I don't see how you can simply throw it all away."

Rage flashed through Anakin. That response was everything he hated about the Jedi in one declaration. He sped up, feeling more than seeing the security ships keep pace. Speed was all they really had going to them, so he gunned it, trying to get them to max out their engines and then he jinked hard to the right. The CTSC ships tailing him overshot his position. He watched the atmosphere burn against their ships as they fired their forward engines, trying desperately to slow down and regain control.

"If you cared, you'd try to stop me!" he snapped back, even if it wasn't true. If Obi-Wan cared, he'd help.

Pulling up, he swooped back toward his original destination. The security forces had pushed him off of his flight path, but not far enough. The glinting circles of hyperspace rings came into view.

Anakin slid the Delta-6 neatly into a hyperdrive ring, feeling the vessel tremble as the systems linked together. He flipped switches, watching indicators blink to life. They were a hazy yellow right now, but that was good enough. Maneuverability limited, he flashed a look over his shoulder to where the CTSC ships were regrouping. They were a ways out still, and not within his escape vector regardless. He guided the Delta-6 into safe jump territory, astrocomputer humming as it calculated.

Space felt particularly cold around him as Coruscant's glimmering city lights fell distant behind him.

"Anakin," there was a helpless note in Obi-Wan's voice, "You are a Jedi. You have a duty to uphold."

Anakin closed his eyes against the words. He was a Jedi; he was trying to be a Jedi by doing this, trying to be a good son at the same time.

He swiped tears from his eyes.

"That's what I'm doing master. I made a promise." Anakin bit his lip and then added hopefully, "I'll see you on Tatooine."

He jumped to hyperspace and saw starlines.

* * *

_Now_

It was not often that Senator Padme Amidala was called to Chancellor Palpatine's office. His avuncular, well meaning concern for her had faded after she stepped down from her position as Queen of Naboo, replaced by a chilly professionalism that, while feigning respect, seemed instead to convey his disdain of her political leanings. Expecting a close ally in the Senate, he had not been pleased to see her align herself instead with Bail Organa of Alderaan nor Mon Mothma of Chandrila.

If he'd thought her to be a puppet, he'd been proven wrong time and again.

Still, there could be no politics without access. Being cut off from the Chancellor limited Padme's own effectiveness and in times like these, with so much discontent in the Senate and so many pressing for the creation of a Republic army, Padme needed all the connections she could get.

The blue Senate Guards stepped aside as the doors to Palpatine's office whooshed open. Padme stepped through, Dorme only a pace behind her. Already, a large group had assembled inside Palpatine's office. Neither Mas Amedda nor Orn Free Taa were not a surprising sight, but Padme nearly gasped aloud at the sight of so many Jedi gathered together. Her hand came up to her mouth before she restrained herself, settling for allowing it to cover a soft, wry smile.

And here she'd thought Jedi had no taste for politics.

Yoda, Grand Master of the Jedi, stood with dignity near the wide windows that looked out upon Coruscant's political district. His gimer stick was braced within his two small hands, a frown puckering his face as he watched lobbyists rushing in and out of the building. An unfamiliar Togruta Jedi had accompanied him, along with a much more familiar man. Padme had not had much contact with Obi-Wan Kenobi since he and his master had fought to save Naboo, but she had nonetheless followed the few mentions of his career that the holonews carried and still regarded him as a friend. As ever, a sadness lined his face and Padme could not help the swell of sympathy she felt for him.

It was a sadness she also felt, unjustified and unbidden as it was.

On the other side of the room, doing nothing so much as skulking, Palpatine had invited another delegation. The Trade Federation, once more led by Nute Gunray. Padme was almost glad of their presence; it helped her brush away the feelings of nostalgia and loss Obi-Wan brought out in her, steely anger becoming her focus instead.

"Ah, Senator Amidala," Palpatine began. There was a kind, bland smile on his face. "I am so pleased that you could make it."

"As am I, Your Excellency. You know how overprotective my security detail can be."

Dorme stiffened beside her, but Padme put out a calming hand on her arm, eyes flicking over to her in reassurance. The jab was not meant for her.

"I think not, dear Senator. In light of the recent attempts on your life, well, I would be stricken if anything were to happen to you. Their concern is well placed."

Padme let her eyes slide over to Gunray. Neimoidian expressions were not the easiest to read, but she thought she could categorize that one as a pout.

"Thank you, Chancellor," she said, dipping her head in acknowledgment.

It was his own allies targeting her, a reminder he surely did not need, but perhaps bringing up the topic would at least get him to distance himself from those in his own party who thought assassination was the best way to prevent a bill from being voted down.

"Did you say attempts on your life?" Obi-Wan asked. His voice was mild, though disapproving.

Padme shrugged lightly and a frown lined his face.

"It's just politics. Nothing to worry yourself over, Master Jedi."

Yoda clucked his tongue and even the Togruta Jedi made a sound of disapproval.

"Master, Obi-Wan is not, Senator Amidala. Lose his Padawan, he did."

Obi-Wan went ashen at the words.

"Oh – I," Padme fumbled for a polite response. Such a cold way of putting things, she thought. Eventually, she simply settled for bowing her head. "I apologize. I meant no disrespect to the Order, Master Yoda."

It must have been a great scandal, Padme thought. The Jedi Order was too insular to ever issue official statements, to give press conferences to a curious galaxy, but the loss of the boy they'd called the Chosen One had clearly shaken the Order to the core. Perhaps if he had merely disappeared, become one of the Lost, the scandal would not have become a crisis of faith. But Anakin's actions in the years since he had run away were more public than those of the Order, and certainly more admired.

He'd made a name for himself, alongside a growing empire.

Padme had not considered the consequences to Obi-Wan before. That he would be punished in Anakin's place.

Yoda made a long, "Hmm."

"It is not disrespect," the Togruta master said kindly. "Only misunderstanding. It is forgotten, Senator."

From the look on Obi-Wan's face, it was not; Padme found it similarly difficult to put aside the slight. She struggled to keep her expression neutral, nodding again to the Jedi before stepping deliberately away from them.

Palpatine cleared his throat. He laced his fingers together, steepling the tips of his forefingers as he looked over the assemblage.

"I hope to address that matter, actually. Both matters." He looked to Mas Amedda. "If you would play the recording."

Padme drew Dorme to one of the couches in the office, followed by the Jedi. They stood silently behind the politicians as they waited for the recording to queue up.

There was no doubt which recording the Chancellor meant. A blue hologram of Anakin Skywalker shimmered to life in the center of the chamber. She had seen it before – the entire galaxy had – but Padme could not help but lean closer, head tilting to the side as she looked over his features. He'd changed so much in the last five years, in the ten since she had known him on Naboo.

Ani had grown up, grown harsher. His hair curled around the nape of his neck, falling into fierce eyes that burned with fire from within. His round, childish face had given way to chiseled cheekbones and a mouth that always seemed halfway between a frown and a smirk. He was tall, broad, and undeniably attractive, even his smallest movements predatory and smooth.

He did not wear Jedi robes, nor a uniform befitting the general whose cause had spread like wildfire in the Outer Rim, consuming more systems than Padme even realized had been settled. He wore the simple jacket and trousers of the average spacer, a blaster prominent on his hip. Lightsaber doubly so.

Padme ignored her suddenly racing pulse, looking away from Anakin. She looked to the Chancellor, briefly watching him watch Anakin. There was something odd to his expression, keen and hungry, and she turned away from that as well. She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, eyes half-lidded so that she could concentrate on Anakin's words.

"… the Free Worlds of the Outer Rim make no demands on the Republic. And yet you send cruisers and spies into our territory. This morning, my fleets intercepted the Jedi scout ship Ascension. I have no quarrel with the Jedi," Anakin said. Padme lifted her eyes once more. There was a hard set to his jaw; nothing of regret when he spoke. "No matter what they may say. The Republic has no interest in the Outer Rim, or the fate of slaves – you never have. There's no reason to start now."

It was a short, terse message. The threat was only implicit, although Padme was aware that Anakin's interdiction zone kept expanding, kept creeping closer to Mid-Rim worlds. And it was not that the Free Worlds did not want spies, it was that the they did not want anyone. Travel to the Outer Rim had never been altogether popular, but in some regions it had become simply impossible. Travel from the Outer Rim had all but dried up.

But that was a different matter entirely. Padme had seen the reports. Anakin didn't have close to enough ships to patrol all of the Free World space, to stop every single ship that came or went. He had just enough to be precise, to stop interlopers with obvious intentions. It seemed that the Free Worlds were just that and if there were no refugees, no traders, no travelers, it was not because they could not leave. They chose to stay. In fact, commerce among Outer Rim planets, Free and not, seemed to be taking the normal course. It was the Republic that was not wanted, neither their goods, nor their people, nor their way of life.

The message Padme had seen, the one picked apart on HoloNet News for the last day and a half, ended right there. But she knew Palpatine and that sly, cunning expression in his eyes too well to think his version of the recording cut off so soon. He had a reason for gathering them together and a reason for showing a message they thought they knew.

The hologram shifted focus, zooming out to bring another man into the frame. Obi-Wan inhaled sharply at the image and Yoda grunted in surprise. Well, Padme thought, that answered that question. It was not the Jedi who had censored the message, but the Chancellor himself.

He was an aristocratic looking man, with sharp features and a well trimmed beard.

"Perhaps I am familiar to some," the man said in deep, elegant tones. His eyebrows were raised in vague amusement at the thought, though his mouth was pursed and stern. "But I shall introduce myself regardless. For six decades, I served the Jedi Order. For a time, after I left, I was known as the Count of Serenno.

"No longer," he pronounced. "I am Dooku of the Free Worlds. I have pledge Serenno's wealth and resources to the defense of all those we have unshackled – and those we have yet to emancipate."

Padme watched Yoda as he reacted; two lost Jedi stood together in the holomessage. Dooku placed a hand on Anakin's shoulder, not quite proprietary. Affectionate, perhaps. Loyal. Yoda's long ears twitched and his claws tightened on his gimer stick. Twenty Jedi lost in ten thousand years – twenty one, if a Padawan counted. These last two in the last five years and Yoda the Grand Master of the Order. The HoloNet would surely have a field day, calling again for the Temple to unbar their doors and allow a real investigation, perhaps even an official, Senate led audit. Yet there was no hint of anger from him. Instead, there was a deliberate, still calm about him that belied his earlier harshness on Obi-Wan. In its own way, it was frightening.

"We take no titles," Anakin interjected. He folded his arms across his chest, chin lifted as if daring anyone to question him. It was, after all, rather hypocritical. Title or no, he was the unelected, unchallenged leader of the Free Worlds.

Dooku's expression shifted slightly. Padme leaned forward again, chin nestled in her palm, trying to decide if the irritation she saw on his face was real or imagined.

"Indeed, we do not. To the Jedi and the Republic, I put a question. Where is your honor?"

"We know what we stand for," Anakin said. Padme's heart stopped for a moment. His eyes were not that clear and blue, she reminded herself. It was the hologram. Still, he looked nothing like the little slave boy she remembered; he was too proud, too beautiful. "Do you?"

Padme closed her eyes, waiting for Anakin's image to fade. Her heart returned to her, beating once more, and she pressed her hands against her knees.

"This is outrageous!" Gunray shouted. "The Trade Federation will not stand for this!"

Well, that was familiar. She blinked her eyes open with a sigh.

"Calm yourself, Viceroy," the Togruta Jedi said. Padme rubbed at the frown line forming between her brows, turning to Dorme. Her handmaiden had already predicted Padme's plight. She had up a list of members of the Jedi Council on her datapad. Padme pressed a quick, thankful touch to Dorme's hand. She really did hate being ignorant of whom she dealt with, ally or not. Shaak Ti continued, "This is clearly the concern of us all."

Gunray jabbed a finger at Shaak Ti.

"It is a Jedi matter! These two, two Jedi! They are threatening us and you do nothing!"

"A threat?" Yoda scoffed. "A threat it is not. A threat you will know, when they give it. A challenge it is."

Shaak Ti gave Yoda a long, measuring glance and then turned to Obi-Wan, whose expression shuttered immediately. Padme pursed her lips, trying to understand what was passing among the Jedi. Something unspoken, a shared history and understanding that they were not explaining.

"To our principles," Obi-Wan agreed softly, after a long moment. "But to what end, Master Yoda?"

"Unclear, that is. Meditate on this, I will."

"Wonderful," Palpatine said briskly. "In the mean time, there is the matter I wished to discuss. We must deal with Skywalker and Dooku immediately to negotiate a peace accord."

Padme sat up in surprise. That was not at all what she had expected from him. With Gunray at the meeting, she'd feared the worst, that Palpatine would ask her to put aside her opposition to the Military Creation Act and call upon the Jedi to back it. At minimum, she had thought he would call for a show of unity and force to calm the many nervous Mid-Rim and Outer Rim Republic worlds.

It was a stunningly good development.

"I would be happy to lead such negotiations," Padme said, standing to meet Palpatine's eyes.

"I was hoping you would. And you as well, Master Yoda, do you agree to pursue this mission of peace?" Palpatine mouth curled on the last word, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

"With the Council, this matter I must discuss."

Shaak Ti inclined her head apologetically.

"We cannot make a unilateral decision, I am afraid. This is not merely a diplomatic issue, but a Jedi matter that strikes to the heart of who we are."

"Ah, of course," Palpatine sounded only the faintest bit disappointed. Turning, he said without missing a beat, "I humbly turn to you, then, Viceroy Gunray. We Naboo have had our share of differences with the Trade Federation, but surely you see the importance of this mission. Will you provide Senator Amidala with an honor guard?"

Dorme's hand clutched at Padme's arm.

"That is – You can't ask us –" Nute Gunray sputtered out. For once, Padme agreed with him completely.

"Chancellor, surely you are not impugning the competence of our home security forces?" Padme asked.

"Of course not, my dear," Palpatine replied kindly. There was a bit of a twinkle in his eye. Padme did not like it one bit. "But the Viceroy has voiced vociferous opposition to the Free Planets' embargoes against the Trade Federation. I had hoped only to give him an opportunity to speak his piece to young Skywalker."

Gunray's entire demeanor changed. His head twitched from side to side, confusion evident. He was politician enough not to trust the offer, but still avaricious enough to hope it was real.

"Now wait, that is an entirely different –"

"I don't believe you have thought this out," Obi-Wan interjected. "Anakin's force has responded with increasing hostility toward Republic incursions. They have not yet turned violent, but do you really think sending a fleet of droid battleships to escort Senator Amidala will strike him as anything less than provocative?"

"You suggest something more discreet? Jedi protection, perhaps?"

Master Yoda and Master Shaak Ti shook their heads.

Obi-Wan's gray eyes found Padme's before sliding back to the Chancellor.

"Yes," he said stridently. "With respect to her personal security detail, this situation is one that warrants the expertise of a Jedi Knight. One alone can fulfill the duties of a dozen conventionally trained guards."

"I agree," Padme said. "A Jedi guard presents a show of strength without appearing aggressive. We can also travel faster if it is only myself and my Jedi protector on a single ship, without a convoy."

The Chancellor looked like he was mulling the matter over, as if it was a change from what he intended. Padme most certainly doubted that. She'd never seen him go into a situation without setting up at least three different results he desired equally.

"Speed is of the utmost concern," Palpatine said eventually. "Especially with the Military Creation Act due to come to the floor so soon."

Padme cocked her head to the side, smiling at him.

"Surely that could be delayed. I mean, if you wish to give me a chance to succeed. To bring the Free Worlds into the Republic, under your rule."

He had never said he wanted her to bring the Free Worlds into the Republic – though there would never be peace if they were completely sovereign, outside of Republic law. It was a risk to acknowledge it aloud, that his peace plans were a kind of power grab.

There was a flash of something very unpleasant across Palpatine face before geniality replaced it. He gave a hearty chuckle.

"Well played, Senator. Very well, the bill can wait until your return. By then we shall know if it is truly necessary." Padme shivered at the last word. Gunray, who had been looking quite put out in the corner, rubbed his hands together with distasteful eagerness. "Obi-Wan Kenobi will accompany you to meet with Anakin, and you will sort this silly mess out and bring the boy home. It is settled."

Yoda rapped his gimer stick hard against the floor. It was the closest to an angry gesture Padme had ever seen from the old master.

"Settled, it is not. Sit on the Jedi Council, you do not, Chancellor. Make our own decisions under our own counsel, we shall."

Palpatine affected an innocent look.

"But surely Master Kenobi is the best man for the job," he said, word choice entirely deliberate. Obi-Wan gazed steadily at the man. Padme could not tell if he took the praise to heart. "Anakin will respond well to the sight of an old friend, I think. Even better to two. I am only saddened that I do not myself have the opportunity to join this mission."

"Make our own decisions, we shall," Yoda repeated. "Informed, you will be."

Shaak Ti bowed deeply to the Chancellor and Padme in turn.

"We have much to discuss," she said, before leading the Jedi party out. Obi-Wan did not turn once to look back, walking with the slow deliberation necessary to not overtake Master Yoda. Padme felt a dull ache at the sight and quickly made her own excuses to leave.

She did have a great deal of research to do, after all, and even more packing.

"That was a surprising meeting, but I think it went well, my lady," Dorme said as they walked through the Senate corridors. "I hope the Jedi do decide on Kenobi."

"So do I," Padme murmured.

He of all men deserved a second chance.

* * *

Obi-Wan waited in the antechamber outside the council room for hours. He supposed he was permitted to leave and return to his quarters, or even go out into the city, but he knew that with his luck, the moment he stepped outside the Temple, the meeting would end and he would be called upon to return. There were no chairs, no gestures toward the comfort of non-Jedi guests, so he sat on the floor, hands light on his knees.

The Jedi Council was debriefing Luminara Unduli and her Padawan, just now returned from Free World space.

Obi-Wan had all but stopped breathing when the news of their capture came through days before, their mission to Ansion disrupted when they flew too close to Anakin's forces.

A rescue had been planned, he knew, though he was not party to the process. It happened around him, to the side. In the rooms where voices fell silent as soon as he entered. The distrust was nearly as galling as it was earned, but he could not honestly claim that he would render the aid they desired if a choice was forced. He would not turn on his Padawan, not this time.

Oh? Had you not already? He chided himself. In truth, he had expected far worse for Luminara and Barriss than a day in captivity eating ration bars.

He had hardly been alone in that. The Jedi had feared the worst – though they would never use that word. The Jedi did not fear. They were concerned. They prepared for unfortunate eventualities. They were hardly gripped by fear, waiting in terror to see if one of their own would become a Jedi killer, terrified that any interference would make the situation worse and thus paralyzed into inaction.

Obi-Wan sometimes felt he had become a cynic in his old age.

He closed his eyes, reaching into the Force. This bitterness was unbefitting a Jedi. He released it, imagining it curling upwards and away, vanishing like smoke on a breeze.

It was quite some time before the tenor of the Council meeting changed, the cold wall of silence fading. An invitation was extended and Obi-Wan cracked his eyes open. He rose to his feet, fingers flicking at his robes to brush away dust. The door to the Council Room opened and closed behind him and he took up a spot in the center, next to Luminara and Barriss. They offered him curious looks, but had the grace not to sidle away from him.

Obi-Wan bowed to the masters of the council in turn before straightening, hands tucked into his sleeves. The sun was setting in the distance, orange light flooding the room; he'd been called to the chamber in mid-morning.

"Impertinent, you have become, Obi-Wan," Yoda said.

Obi-Wan gave him a nod and a thin smile.

"I was hoping to begin on a different note, Master, but now that that is out of the way, perhaps we can speak of Anakin?"

When Obi-Wan was nothing more than a youngling, he remembered Yoda kindly doting on him. He remembered the warm chuckle that greeted even the strangest, most childlike question, the firm tap of Yoda's gimer stick on the floor at the end of each lesson, somehow sounding affectionate rather than stern. He remembered being fond of the old master.

Yoda did not appear to remember it nearly as well as Obi-Wan did.

"Impertinent," he repeated.

"And worse," Mace interjected. His arms were folded across his chest, every line of his posture disapproving, "he is colluding with the Chancellor."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

"I do not believe working with the democratically elected leader of our government can rightfully be called 'collusion', Master Windu. And in any case, I did initially disagree with the plan he outlined."

"Let him dictate to the Jedi, you did," Yoda said.

This line would take them nowhere. Yoda and Mace would happily upbraid him for hours if given the chance. Obi-Wan looked to the other Council members, attention settling on Master Plo Koon. He was not nearly as negative on the Chancellor as Mace, nor had Obi-Wan ever accused his former Padawan of being a Sith Lord, as with Yoda.

"I take your correction to heart," Obi-Wan said. He bowed deeply to Yoda and Mace again and then looked directly to Master Plo, "But surely you have called me here for more than a lesson to Master Unduli's Padawan in how not to behave."

Master Plo's rasped out a breathy laugh.

"Indeed not, Obi-Wan," he said. "Master Luminara, if you would."

Luminara glanced at Obi-Wan from under her hood. Her vividly blue eyes studied him cautiously, undecided on how much information to impart. It was obvious that Obi-Wan was not cleared for the whole story, or he would have been in the chamber for the first telling of it. It was a signal of trust to her that she was expected to divulge only as much as Obi-Wan needed to know and no more.

"My Padawan and I were on our way to Ansion to negotiate a peace accord between the many tribes of that world. Perhaps we strayed from our flight plan," she said. Her voice was quiet and considering, restrained even for a Jedi; Obi-Wan was struck with the thought that Anakin had not been wrong to call her a spy. "We fell into the Free World interdiction zone.

"We were boarded, briefly, and then towed further into Free World space. Two light cruisers accompanied by nearly a dozen fighters joined us as escort until we reached Tatooine, where the main fleet remains."

Which was to say that Anakin still felt his homeworld was not safe from Hutt reprisals.

"The in-orbit fleet was perhaps a dozen starships, mostly carriers. Skywalker favors snub fighters to full battleships. Better for quick, nuisance attacks which carry minimal danger to his larger cause."

Obi-Wan snorted. That was giving Anakin rather too much credit. He preferred snub fighters because it was easier for him to jump in a ship and win the fight than to rely on his commanders in interstellar ship to ship strategic conflicts. He had little doubt, in fact, that Anakin had flown one of the fighters escorting Master Unduli to the main fleet. It also spoke to the composition of his navy. Dooku's influence might well bring a sea-change, but Anakin's forces had few members with any kind of formal training. They were slaves and bush pilots, many of them learning guerrilla tactics directly from Anakin himself. Capital ships were of no use in a navy that literally had no officers fit to command them.

"The fleet itself is larger than either Republic Intelligence or our own sources have previously led us to believe. Ships continuously jump in and out of the system, all bearing unique transponders with unique Force signatures aboard."

Luminara looked directly at Obi-Wan, bright gaze piercing.

"It is why we have few intercepted transmissions from Skywalker. Nearly all communication is handled in person."

Obi-Wan held her gaze, trying to read her intent. She was subtle, elusive. Obi-Wan's concern for his Padawan had been described, on more than one occasion, as obsessive. He did spend quite a lot of time in the Temple communications room, as well in the cryptology computer bank. He had found little of relevance to Anakin – although he had found quite a bit that he felt the council unfairly ignored. Perhaps Luminara meant it as a comfort to him, that he had not failed in that pursuit.

He had to wonder if she would obsess as well, if Barriss turned rogue. If she had envisioned that and felt sympathy for him.

But perhaps he was just projecting and did not she mean anything by that look at all.

"Paranoid," Shaak Ti said. Obi-Wan snapped his attention to her, embarrassed to realize she referred to Anakin.

"But intelligent," Plo Koon said. "A very intelligent tactic, for one so young."

It was at that, but Obi-Wan could not help but see it in a different light. Anakin's caution was unnatural to the brazen boy Obi-Wan remembered. It seemed he had taken the lesson of their very last parting a little too much to heart. It should not have been as disappointing as it was.

"But did you see him?" Obi-Wan asked.

Robes rustled as the masters murmured their disapproval.

"Only briefly," Barriss offered. She looked hesitantly to Luminara before continuing, "He gave us a message for you."

"For me?"

"He said that you 'aren't as subtle as you think' and 'not to bother sending anyone else to interfere.'"

Typical. Obi-Wan was unsure why he'd even been surprised to hear that Anakin singled him out for a message. His Padawan had always been stubbornly convinced that Obi-Wan somehow secretly controlled the Council and that all their rulings were merely his own in disguise.

"It is comforting to know that he still thinks so highly of me," Obi-Wan replied dryly.

"And incongruous," Barriss said.

The dear child thought she was being helpful. Obi-Wan tried not to let his distinct lack of affection for her insight reach her through the Force, but could not say that he was entirely successful. She went nervelessly pale nevertheless, clearly aware of the offense she had caused.

"Barriss is right," Shaak Ti said before the Padawan could apologize. She leveled a thoughtful look at Obi-Wan. "Anakin Skywalker thinks of you, even with no reason to. He remains ever your Padawan."

"He does not, Master. He severed that bond five years ago."

Plo Koon's rough laughter again echoed in the chamber.

"Always so contrary, Kenobi. We are now on the path to that which you desire, but you now position yourself against it, merely out of pride."

Stung, Obi-Wan looked away.

"You are right. Of course."

He stilled himself in the Force and his irritation vanished. Barriss was, indeed, right. It had been a long five years. In all that Anakin had done, it was surely long enough for him to forget Obi-Wan. It meant something that Anakin still thought of him. It had to.

"Decided it is not," Yoda said, interrupting the moment. "Repeated your failures are with young Skywalker, Obi-Wan. This time, what will the difference be?"

It will not be like before, Obi-Wan wanted to say. It will not be Tatooine – or Nar Shadda. Or Zygerria.

"What will be different is that he will not be my Padawan," he said with deliberation. He held up a hand, forestalling the inevitable protest – from Shaak Ti, that he would dispute her judgment ,and from Yoda, that he would use an unearned title for his lost apprentice. "The Senator and I will approach him as equals, in peaceful negotiations."

"Then you do not intend to bring him home?" Mace Windu asked. He steepled his hands in front of him and Obi-Wan flashed on the image of the Chancellor doing the same. If Mace felt the comparison, however, he did not react.

"I," Obi-Wan paused, searching for an honest answer. "I cannot say that I do not, but if I may, Masters, Anakin is not yet lost. That was my mistake before, I am sure of it, to treat him as misguided and in need of a master's correction. The more I treat him as lost, the more he will truly become so, and that is nothing I intend."

Yoda blinked slowly, nodding his head.

"Wisdom, you have, Knight Kenobi. Agree, I do. Those who fall, often it is because treated as fallen, they were."

The Council chamber bore a long silence. If it was equally true of himself, the Masters were at least in a mood to ignore it. They did tend to find discussion of the obvious rather unsavory.

"And on that subject, Masters," Obi-Wan said lightly. He welcomed any form of apology that Yoda extended, but it was hardly pleasant to be considered as fallen as his runaway, empire building Padawan; though Obi-Wan could hardly say it was the first time he and Anakin had been conflated. "I am concerned of Dooku's influence on Anakin."

The chamber turned chilly.

"Know we of your theory, Obi-Wan. Brought it to us before, you have."

"I should hope that it is not so easy to dismiss now that Dooku has thrown his lot in with a massing fleet of very angry former slaves who have a vendetta against the Republic," Obi-Wan said crossly.

"Specious, it was. Specious, it remains," Yoda replied.

"Master – !"

"Settled this matter, we have. The apprentice, you slew on Naboo. Think you Dooku was his master, hmm? When only due to Qui-Gon's death he left the Order? Think he murdered your master, do you?" Yoda's gaze was harsh and his tone even moreso. "No. No revenge will you seek. No phantoms you will chase."

"I have never claimed Dooku was the Sith Master. In fact, I presented a case of exactly the opposite! He left the Order following Master Qui-Gon's death and all but disappeared on Serenno, doing stars only know what. The transmission I found showed him in communication with the true Sith Master..."

"A half-decrypted holomessage of uncertain provenance is not concrete evidence," Mace Windu said. "No matter how much you wish it to be. We need more to suspect Dooku of misconduct, let alone act against him."

"Excellent," Obi-Wan said. His jaw was clenched tightly, but he offered an angry smile to the council. "I shall bring you evidence upon my return."

Shaak Ti, at least, appeared to be amused. The rest of the council was not. Yoda's stern face remained unmoved by Obi-Wan's glibness.

Frustration bubbled within Obi-Wan. He was a fully fledged Jedi Knight. It verged on the ridiculous than he had to fight tooth and nail to be trusted with even a simple mission, let alone one regarding his own Padawan. He looked within himself, to the root of his anger.

He was right about Dooku's Sith allegiance, he felt it in the Force, he knew it to be true even with as little evidence as he had. He knew that Dooku could not be allowed anywhere near the Chosen One without disaster following and he knew that his Padawan needed him, needed him now like he'd needed him these past five years.

And he'd failed Anakin before, he knew that as well.

"With every day, you become more like your former Master," Mace said. He rubbed at the line between his brows, as if to will away a headache.

That was, if anything, a compliment, but Obi-Wan did not tell them so.

He knew of a much more offensive response to give.

"I shall take that, Master," he said through bared teeth, "in the spirit in which it is intended."

"You should take it and let go pf your anger," Plo Koon advised.

Obi-Wan blinked at the older Master. He had been focused on his own feelings, blind to the swirling currents in the Force around him as the Council debated. The Jedi Council were skeptical of him and distrustful, but neither callous nor stupid. Obi-Wan sighed, disgusted at his own behavior. He let go of his anger, his hurt pride, and he felt the better for it.

The Council sent a wave of approval his way. It made Obi-Wan feel small, childish. They were right. His fit of temper did not countenance a Knight. This is why, the Force told him softly, why you remain a Knight. Obi-Wan released that feeling as well, that sense of shame.

Yoda waited until Obi-Wan's Force presence felt as clear and honed as any Jedi rightfully should be.

"Pursue revenge, you will not," he said again, sternly, but with an undertone of acquiescence. It was not an admonishment; it was an order to follow on his mission.

"The Dark Side of the Force clouds everything. It surrounds your Padawan and, yes, Dooku," Mace Windu said. He tilted his head to the side, as if listening to something distant. "They form an important shatterpoint."

Which was only an acknowledgment of Obi-Wan's point by halves. It could be Anakin that was the shatterpoint, or Dooku, or the pair together. It could be some objective of theirs that was not yet known to the council, or some obstacle that would be thrown into their path, changing everything.

"We must discover more about Skywalker's intentions toward the Republic," Plo Koon said. "And if his conversion to the cause is true, what Dooku's role in it will be."

They had hope, Obi-Wan knew. Dooku had been a respected Jedi Master before he left the Order. His influence on Anakin might well be positive.

"Go you will, with Senator Amidala," Yoda said. "Protection she needs from many enemies, perhaps some unknown. But set aside your suspicion, you will. Foolish it is to pursue personal vendettas in a time such as this."

Obi-Wan bowed deeply to the assembled masters.

He would follow their orders. After a fashion.


	2. Chapter 2

_Five Years Ago_

Anakin was shocked to find himself here. He stared down at the cup of milk in his hands, watching tremors ripple across its surface. His mother sat across the table from him, but he couldn't bear to look up, to see the hurt and pride combined in her eyes.

She didn't want him to be here. She'd told him to never look back.

The slaves hadn't been hard to find. The old quarters in Mos Espa were nothing but a burned husk now. Ash rained down on him, blackening his hair and face when he slammed the nearest being into a crumbling wall, demanding to know where the rebels had gotten off to. Maybe the being thought he was an ally, maybe he was just afraid. It didn't really matter. The creature husked out directions in broken Basic and expletive laden Huttese.

A moisture farm not far from Anchorhead, ringed now by small tents and shabby little lean-tos. It was unguarded, begging for retaliation.

Further retaliation, apparently. His mother reached across the table, hand covering Anakin's. It was so small in comparison to his own, he thought, letting go of the cup to turn his hand under hers, lacing their fingers together. Dried blood had worked itself under her nails. Not her own. The bandage that covered the electrowhip burn was white and clean. It was, Anakin knew, the blood of the fallen man in his vision. His name was Cliegg Lars.

Cliegg had been the one to free her. After Watto refused to sell Shmi to him, she had taken him the half-finished scanner Anakin had left behind five years ago. They puzzled out his design as best as they could and, with Cliegg's son, finally made it work.

"Ani," Shmi said. He jerked his head up, looking into her calm brown eyes. Owen sat next to her. He almost looked protective and Anakin fought down a surge of jealousy.

He'd always wanted the best for his mom, but that wasn't this. It wasn't a replacement family that she loved so much a city burned when she was taken from them.

"It's a lot," he said haltingly.

"Oh, but you have more to tell," she said. She reached out to pluck fondly at his Padawan braid. "You are so grown up. I'm so proud of you."

Anakin blushed. He wanted to believe her, but when he reached out with the Force, he felt that same ambivalence from her. She loved him, but she feared for him. She didn't think he would be safe here. She didn't understand what he was now, he decided. How powerful.

"Later," he told her. "First we need to make this camp more defensible and figure out our next move. When my Master gets here, we'll be able to go on the offensive."

Owen frowned deeply.

"Offensive? How do you think we'll survive that?"

Anakin narrowed his eyes at the other boy. He looked about his own age, maybe a couple of years older. He had the typical stocky build of a farmboy, all strength and no grace. It was no wonder his father had died, if he was anything like Owen. They weren't made for fighting.

"Experience," Anakin pronounced, chin lifted. "I've been on a dozen missions like this as a Jedi."

He'd been on a couple, at least. They'd just been a little smaller in scale. And the Hutts themselves hadn't been breathing down their necks.

"First, we should-" he cut himself off, blinking. He turned toward the bright pulse of his Master's Force presence, joy almost overwhelming the sting of Obi-Wan's disapproval.

"You get ahead of yourself, my very young Padawan," Obi-Wan said from the farm courtyard. "As always."

A broad grin spread across Anakin's face and faded as quickly. The Force around Obi-Wan stirred with his cold anger, seeping out toward Anakin. He shivered as he stood, slowly and carefully, turning to give his Master a deep, full bow.

"I am sorry, Master," Anakin said. He felt Owen's unease from across the table. His mother watched steadily. From the corner of his eye, he could see her hands clenching on the table. "I ask your forgiveness."

"And I will determine when you are truly sorry, rather than when you merely feel free to fling the words about," Obi-Wan replied. Anakin winced.

Anakin snuck a glance up at his Master. In the harsh light of the twin suns, arms crossed, lightsaber prominent at his side, he looked quite forbidding. Perhaps even menacing. Shmi gave him a worried look – this was not the kind Master he had described to her. Anakin realized, belatedly, that Obi-Wan was not the Master she had expected at all. She had met only Qui-Gon.

"Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan sighed and Anakin made sure to keep his head down, hiding a small smile. This was far more familiar to him.

"Oh, stand up straight already, Anakin. We'll deal with this later."

The anger was still there, cold and contained and so perfectly Obi-Wan that, if not for the pain of it, Anakin could gladly take it back to Coruscant with them. He always did like proof that Obi-Wan had feelings.

"You got here faster than I thought you would," Anakin said as he straightened.

"My path was a tad easier than yours," Obi-Wan replied. "Since I already knew where to go."

Anakin nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck. More than one Jedi had called him a beacon in the Force. While he had to ask around to find the slave camp, all Obi-Wan had to do was follow their training bond, made all the easier by Anakin's bright presence.

Owen looked between the two of them, mild irritation on his face. He didn't quite follow what they were talking about and he clearly didn't like that. They were, Anakin could admit, in his house, infringing on his hospitality. And when he had already done so much for Shmi, Anakin was aware that was wrong.

He felt a sudden surge of affection for Owen and turned, bowing to the other boy.

"I should have said it earlier, but thank you, Owen Lars. I owe you a deep debt," Anakin said solemnly.

Owen's face cleared. He shrugged one shoulder gracelessly.

"It was the right thing to do."

"A lot of people don't do the right thing." He repeated, eyes locked on Owen's, "Thank you."

Owen gave a short nod back; the social protocol was beyond the scope of his experiences, but he was trying his best. Anakin knew that feeling well. Shmi all but beamed at him and despite the crowd of free, desperate slaves above ground and Obi-Wan's clear disapproval, Anakin wallowed in the moment.

Obi-Wan caught the smile on Anakin's face and rapped him lightly through the Force, a reminder that he had by no means made up for his transgressions. It was simply that Obi-Wan was too pragmatic to punish him during a crisis. Anakin sent back a mild apology, which his master seemed to accept for the moment. He stepped out of the blinding Tatooine light, into the dimmer, cooler reaches of the dining area, offering Shmi a polite smile and bow.

"I don't believe we have been properly introduced. I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin's teacher and Jedi Master," he said.

Shmi glanced uncertainly to her son before reaching out to clasp Obi-Wan's hands in her own. Anakin felt the ripple of surprise, but Obi-Wan hid it well.

"It is wonderful to meet you at last," she said. "I have much to thank you for. You have cared for my son and raised him well."

There was a hitch in her voice, a trace of pain; the same that Anakin always felt when he thought of her. He stepped around the table, coming to her side. He looked earnestly into her eyes, realizing with a start that he was nearly the same height as his mother now. Another reminder of the years they'd spent apart.

"Mom, it's okay. I understand now. It hurt to leave, but I'm back now and I can help in a way I never would have been able to."

"It is meant to be, then," Shmi said, in much the same way she had to Qui-Gon, all those years before. Anakin nodded, glad to feel her anxiety at his presence bleed away. Her presence in the Force was steadying, soothing to be near.

You should have been a Jedi, Anakin thought suddenly. She was as calm and centered as any Master Anakin had ever known.

"I believe you were saying something about what you planned to do, my very young Padawan?" Obi-Wan said, pulling Anakin's attention back to him.

He left his odd thoughts behind, hands going behind his back and shoulders straightening at the clear command. Obi-Wan waited a moment, giving Anakin the chance to make good on his declaration that he had a plan. And then a moment more, making it clear that he had no such thing.

"I see," Obi-Wan said. Anakin didn't quite have it in him to bluster up indignation at his Master's chilly reprimand. He would have had a plan eventually, but Obi-Wan was here now, so it was all going to work out anyway. Obi-Wan sensed the drift of Anakin's thoughts and sighed, sitting at the table, hands clasped on top of it. "Then perhaps I can bring my own experience to bear."

Shmi looked to Owen and then back to Obi-Wan, eyes serious.

"I would appreciate that, Master Jedi. We have many in danger here and very little time. The Hutts..." she trailed off, loathe to mention what would happen. The Hutts would kill them, all of them, make an example of them to the slaves on other worlds.

"Indeed. I take it all the slaves in the camp above are freed?" Obi-Wan asked.

"They'd be dead if they weren't, Master," Anakin said. His mother nodded confirmation.

"Then what we need," Obi-Wan said, "is an account of where we stand. What do we have? Who among them can fight? Do we have any allies?"

Anakin was torn between admiration and annoyance. His Master was methodical and he knew that Obi-Wan was right to ask for more information, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was make lists. He sat back, arms crossed sullenly in front of him as his mother listed the few resources they had, the few former slaves who were well enough and experienced enough for combat to be a possibility.

Obi-Wan rubbed his hand across his face, smoothing down his beard.

"That is..." It was not good, Anakin knew. His stomach twisted in fear. Obi-Wan thought this was hopeless. Obi-Wan sent him a quick, quelling touch in the Force and Anakin pushed the unpleasant thought to the side. His Master continued decisively, "It is workable. I have seen worse. But we shall need to enlist allies."

"To defend the camp?" Shmi asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head marginally.

"To strike at Jabba."

Anakin sat up straight, all at attention. This was more like it.

"We could shake some credits loose from the Order," he offered. "Bribe some of the smugglers who work for Jabba."

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows at that, but he didn't dismiss the idea.

"We will need more than smugglers."

"But they're on the inside, in Jabba's palace," Anakin insisted. "That's exactly where we need to be."

"Yes, my young Padawan. But we shall require more than that."

Anakin wracked his brain, looking over to Owen and Shmi.

Owen scratched at his nose, face screwed up awkwardly.

"I could ask some of Dad's friends. Maybe they'd help. They're not happy right now."

The moisture farmers probably weren't at that, Anakin thought. They didn't want a war on their doorstep – but they'd never been a big help in the past. They'd always been content to keep their heads down and look the other way about what happened to Tatooine's slaves.

Shmi gave Owen a proud look; Anakin forced himself not to resent it.

Obi-Wan was still contemplating the list he had created. Anakin leaned over to peer at it – the outline of an assault plan was coming together. He frowned, reading over the equipment they had.

"Weapons," he said, tapping at that line.

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed. He looked to Shmi. "What remains of Watto's old junkyard?"

"Nothing, Master Jedi. I saw to that," she returned. Her gaze was implacable, daring him to question her judgment in that matter. Obi-Wan let the matter drop, turning instead to look at Anakin.

A thought struck him.

"Jawas," he said excitedly.

"A good call, my Padawan. We should enlist the natives of Tatooine in this fight as well, the Jawas and the Sand People both. It is their planet and their future at stake as much as anyone's."

The Force swirled turbulently around those words. Anakin felt it course through him and struggled to keep his bearings. That path was dangerous.

Across the table, Shmi was shaking her head gently while Owen looked at Obi-Wan as if he'd lost his mind.

"Jawas are one thing," Owen said. His voice cracked slightly on his next words, "But the Tuskens?"

"I do not think it is wise," Shmi said quietly.

"They are experienced warriors," Obi-Wan argued. "We shall require their skills and their knowledge of the desert. How else can we approach Jabba's palace if they will not allow us passage?"

"It's suicide! They won't help settlers!" Owen said.

"We will not know if we do not approach them. If you are correct, then we will merely have a better accounting of where we stand. Agreed?"

Owen looked away. He seemed to be surprised that Obi-Wan was asking his consent at all, thought creasing his face as he mulled over whether to give it. In the end, he nodded jerkily. Shmi did not protest, but neither did she endorse the idea.

"We trust your judgment in matters of war," Shmi said. Obi-Wan hardly seemed thrilled by that. Jedi were peacekeepers, nor warriors. "And I ask that you trust ours. Be careful when you approach the Sand People. Take care that my son is not harmed."

"I'll be fine, Mom," Anakin said.

"He will be quite safe," Obi-Wan said. His eyes twinkled a bit as he smiled at Shmi. "I daresay he's faced worse already, and will again back on Coruscant after this is over."

Shmi remained unmoved and Obi-Wan's smile faded.

"You have my word."

"Good."

Anakin reached out, briefly, trying to catch the Force threads that had beckoned him only moments before. A hint of the future, of something laying in wait. He thought of the Tusken Raiders and Obi-Wan's plan and a chill overtook him.

He really hoped his Master knew what he was doing.

* * *

_Now_

"I would prefer we keep a lower profile," Obi-Wan said as Padme stepped down from the dais, ending her press conference.

Artoo tottered to the edge, tilting forward as if to peer over before pushing off and landing with a distinct thud. Padme glanced down at the little droid, making sure he was okay. She ignored the clamor coming from the gathered crowd of reporters; several of the HNN newsbeings were elbowing each other to try to get closer. Captain Typho loomed above them, making it very clear that while he didn't care how badly they trod upon each other, they would be getting no closer to Padme herself.

"It would hardly be an effective political maneuver if no one knew of it, Obi-Wan," Padme said out of the corner of her mouth. She was still uncomfortable calling him by first name, unfooted by the ungraceful lack of respect it seemed to convey. But to use his title was out of the question.

Padme flicked her gaze to the side, taking in his profile momentarily. There was a slight, wry smile on his face.

"You set yourself before a crowd of possible attackers," he said. Padme raised an eyebrow, giving him a full look this time. He smiled more widely, tilting her head to acknowledge her implied joke. "And assassins as well."

"The HoloNews likes me far more than they like the Council. I don't think I have much to worry about. And I'd like very much to make the Chancellor keep his side of the deal, which means making sure everyone knows there was a deal."

Obi-Wan sighed.

"Politicians."

But she did take his point about assassins to heart.

She signaled to Typho and he took up rearguard as they left the makeshift stage area. Her handmaidens had set it up on the Senate docks, a convenient and clever ploy that Padme commended them for. All of the journalists had to present their credentials to pass through the halls of the Senate and the very thorough security inspections therein and then pass again through the security systems near the landing pads. At the same time, it kept the journalists out of Padme's office and had given her an easy escape route when the time for questions had come. They would hardly be able to chase her down for a last minute statement while the engines primed on her ship.

But Obi-Wan's wariness was not without cause. The Council and Typho had detailed the many attempts on Padme's life she'd experienced in the past few weeks, the latest during her return to Coruscant. Padme swallowed deeply, remembering Corde's blood on her hands. She'd touched her handmaiden's face, closed her eyes. The blood had seemingly stained her fingertips for days.

Even now, it was hard not to tense in suspicion as they walked through the landing bays, headed toward the same Naboo yacht Corde had died under. The scorch marks had been easy enough to polish away and the gangplank simple to repair. She hadn't even flown in on it, but she felt a disconcerting echo of that day as she neared the ship nonetheless.

All that trouble for a Senator in a tiny opposition party. The Military Creation Act was no sure thing, even now, but it was hardly Padme's influence preventing it from passing. She only wished she were so persuasive.

It was true that the Senate feared the Free Worlds deeply, but they were conflicted on how to handle them. Anakin's rise to fame had had an odd effect on their electorates. Many Mid-Rim worlds feared the instability he was causing, but many more admired him, admired the fire that drove him to action. It had cast a rather unflattering light on their own elected officials, by comparison. Making the first move against the Free Worlds would be enough to assure that, for the very first time in decades, Senators would actually have to fight to keep their seats.

Of course, it was not at all clear that the Senate would prefer to merely make room for a few more members for the sake of job security. The Free Worlds were unlikely to join any of the known caucuses. It would be chaos – amazing, startling chaos where Senators would be forced to rethink their own positions and strike new alliances, hearing new voices for the first time in far too long. Perhaps it was idealistic, but Padme liked the idea of that.

Dorme stood at the end of the ship's gangplank, a watery expression on her face. She bowed to Padme.

"My lady," she said.

Padme embraced her friend, holding her by the shoulders.

"I will be fine, Dorme," she said. "I'm just visiting an old friend."

"My place is by your side," Dorme insisted.

"As is mine," Typho interjected. He crossed his arms as her looked between Padme and Obi-Wan. "Your life is at stake, Senator. Reducing your security measures at a time like this is ill advised."

Padme glanced at Obi-Wan.

"I hardly think Jedi protection is a reduction, Captain." His expression remained unmoved and Padme stepped closer, voice quiet as she continued, "I need people I trust here on Coruscant. The Chancellor already censors too much, hides too many things."

Typho looked surprised.

"You fear he will hide news of your success."

The reporters had advanced on the group once they realized there really was no one left to question back at the stage. Padme didn't think anyone was in microphone range, but a politician knew better than to say what she thought, even if no one was recording.

She merely raised her eyebrows at Typho.

"I merely try to plan for many eventualities," she said. "It is a habit I picked up from my political mentor, the Chancellor."

Neither Typho nor Dorme looked particularly convinced, but since Padme knew they would follow orders, that didn't matter much at this point. She looked at Obi-Wan, measuring his reaction as much as she could. He looked faintly amused by the interplay, though Padme could not pinpoint why. Perhaps he merely found comment about Palpatine ironic, as intended.

"All systems are ready, my lady," Dorme said. She embraced Padme one more time and then stepped back, unhappiness still plain on her face.

"Thank you. I will see both of you soon and communicate sooner," Padme assured them.

She and Obi-Wan mounted the gangplank to the ship, Artoo trundling along behind them. Padme walked directly to the cockpit and took the pilot's seat, swiveling it around to watch Obi-Wan as he paced out the dimensions of the space.

"Looking for something?" she asked.

He gave her a mild look.

"Indeed. Bombs, mostly."

Padme left him to it, watching with interest as he worked. It was almost precisely the same routine she had watched Typho go through, physically inspecting the cockpit, opening panels, and running a few programs through the computers to verify that power was not being rerouted suspiciously. He left, briefly, to check the other parts of the ship – the engine room in particular, before returning. He did not look particularly satisfied, but Padme supposed that a null result in this situation was one that tended to generate ambivalence. Either his efforts were for nothing because no bomb had been planted, or they would shortly be dead.

"Shall I lift off?" Padme asked as he settled into the co-pilot's chair.

He tapped his fingers against his armrest, an un-Jedi-like show of nerves.

Padme frowned.

"Or do you sense something?"

"I do, but it is elusive," Obi-Wan said. He shook his head, expression lightening. "I think it is merely our future, Senator. We are flying into danger rather deliberately."

"Do you really think so?" Padme asked. She transmitted her flight plan to CTSC and received back her clearance. The autopilot guided them up and off the platform, well within the regulated ascent window. Padme kept her hands on the controls regardless. She trusted her security force and she trusted Obi-Wan's inspection of the ship, but it was comforting to have the controls in her grasp. She looked over to Obi-Wan once they were past Coruscant's air traffic. "You really think Anakin could be dangerous?"

"My Lady, to the Jedi, there are none more dangerous than Padawans."

Padme let out a surprised laugh.

"Than your children?"

"They are not children – I should think you of all people would be aware of the responsibilities even young people are capable of carrying."

That was certainly true. A light on the console brightened, flashing green until Padme sent a reply signal back to the CTSC. They were clear. She put distance between their ship and the nearby cruisers, keying in the astrocalculations to set their heading. Behind her, Artoo plugged into the wall, beeping a cheerful confirmation. She moved her hand to the hyperdrive lever and pulled back, sighing as the stars streaked into lines.

"I suppose there was no bomb after all," Obi-Wan said.

Padme smiled at him.

"I am glad to hear you had such confidence in your assessment. But what you were saying, that Padawans are to be feared? You can't honestly believe that, can you?"

"A Jedi fears nothing," Obi-Wan replied glibly. He turned his chair to face her, and despite his tone, his face was quite serious. He placed his hands on his knees, setting back comfortably. "A Jedi's powers are quite unsophisticated, when you get down to it. Perhaps a month of training is all you would truly need to master levitation, mind tricks, the little boosts we ask of the Force. A year or more with lightsabers, but that is physical conditioning as much as anything else.

"But we train for decades, Senator. We train so that we might not use our abilities at all. That we may have the wisdom and restraint to never abuse them."

"Things children do not have."

Obi-Wan smiled.

"Things Anakin does not have," he corrected. He looked down at his hands, jaw tight. "Or at least, that he did not have, last I saw him."

Padme slid forward in her seat, touching Obi-Wan's hand lightly.

"I think you underestimate him. On Naboo, we treasure the inexperience of youth. Our leaders wield power before they learn to abuse it, before it corrupts them, and then they step away to live fruitful lives," Padme said. She tilted her head to the side, acknowledging the exception – Palpatine, who seemed to be nothing more than evidence that the Naboo philosophy was correct – before continuing earnestly, "Anakin is young and he left the Jedi young, but perhaps that is for the best. He has no desire for power or an empire. He only wants to help people."

Obi-Wan looked up at her, eyes distant and sad as he considered her words.

"I admire your optimism, Senator, but politicians and Jedi can't be compared. There is no stepping away from the Force. Anakin does not need to desire power because he already possesses it, and without training, I fear where that may lead him."

Padme shook her head slowly. She knew it was true, what he was saying about Jedi power, but the idea of Anakin truly being a danger was almost impossible to fathom.

Obi-Wan frowned suddenly, eyes going distant, and Artoo blatted his opinion into the silence. Padme swung her chair around. She didn't understand astromech very well, but that certainly hadn't sounded polite. Beside her, Obi-Wan sprang up from his chair. His lightsaber snapped to life and he struck out, slicing a small creature in two before Padme even saw it.

A many legged, sickly pale worm sizzled on the floor.

Obi-Wan turned quickly, flipping his blade around to slice past Padme's foot. Belatedly, she cringed back from him, looking to him in shock.

He twirled his lightsaber, turning it off and hooking it back onto his belt in one smooth motion.

Tentatively, Padme looked down, nudged aside one half of a worm with her toe. It had all been so quick, she wasn't even certain she felt afraid. She should, she knew. The assassin was well prepared, slipping past even a Jedi. And yet, Padme felt more curious than anything. This was precisely why Typho called her reckless.

"Poisonous, do you think?" she asked.

"Most certainly." Obi-Wan gave her a chagrined look. "I should have been more thorough, my lady. Toxic centipedal bug creatures were not in my briefing, I'm afraid."

"You're forgiven the oversight. Just this once." Artoo made an apologetic sound, and Padme smiled at him. "You too, Artoo. Just try to catch the next one, okay?"

He fussed a bit, rocking back and forth. Well, fair enough. He had actually been the one to catch this one.

Obi-Wan sat back down with a sigh.

"It would, I suppose, be too much to hope that there will not be a next one."

* * *

Anakin skidded backward with his lightsaber held out to the side, left hand flung forward, fingers scraping against the training room floor as he fought for traction. Dooku advanced on him, his own lightsaber held lightly in a classic Makashi ready position. The blade cast green light across the boy's face, shading his defined features, hollowing them out.

To be quite honest, Dooku preferred the look of red, but he was content to make do. For the moment.

Anakin bounced back upright and raised his lightsaber high for an attack. Dooku repressed a sneer. Djem So was an unsightly school of fencing.

"No. Do not attack," he commanded.

Anakin's eyes narrowed. He had gone too many years without a Master. It was shameful, Dooku thought, to leave such power unharnessed. He may even have been rendered useless in those lost years. The boy's innate stubbornness had turned into a near intractable character flaw. He was loathe to take advice, let alone direction, in nearly all matters. It had only been by thoroughly trouncing him in a duel that Anakin ceded any authority at all to Dooku.

The boy was still hurt from that fight, Dooku saw. He smiled grimly, eyes homing in on the cautious way Anakin guarded his left side. Dooku had forced him to wrench his shoulder badly and Anakin's move just now had aggravated the injury.

But Anakin did relent. He moved into a defensive posture and Dooku gave him a marginal nod. The point of the exercise was to teach Anakin restraint in his fighting. He expended too much energy, relying on youth and pure power. Should he actually encounter a skilled opponent, his ferocity would do little more than speed along his death.

It needed to be channeled. Refined.

Dooku slashed lightly at Anakin, coming at him slowly, at different angles. Anakin perceived the test for what it was and did not break form. He parried with care, extending his senses in the Force as he moved, anticipating the next move and subtly positioning himself to defend without fully committing.

"Better," Dooku admitted.

Philosophically, the boy was a disaster, but he did have this going for him. His physical grace was unparalleled. Dooku had seen nothing like it in all his years at the temple. The only Jedi who had come close was his own Padawan's Padawan, though Dooku had had little enough interaction with him.

Dooku flipped his lightsaber around, holding it in front of his face in a salute. Anakin drew himself up to his full height, lanky body relaxing, and mimicked the pose. Dooku dropped his saber hand, clipping it back on his belt to signal that the lesson was concluded. He kept his Force presence extended, giving no ground, should Anakin decide to attack in that moment.

A Sith would attack.

But Anakin had more honor than that. Even if his pride smarted from Dooku's lessons, he would not attack after the duel formally ended. Anakin closed his saber down as well.

He looked up at Dooku through sweaty hair, hope lighting his eyes.

"You are haphazard in your strikes and overextend yourself. You drop your guard when it should be strongest – it will lose you an arm," Dooku told him. He watched in satisfaction as the light faded, replaced by annoyance.

"You said that before. Maybe I would have improved by now if you were a better teacher."

"Teachers are rarely better than their students," Dooku replied.

Anakin just snorted derisively and shook his head, wandering over to a cabinet along the wall for a towel. Dooku's eyes followed him. His hand clenched at his side at the disrespect. He was hardly surprised that the boy had washed out of the Jedi Order. He would have tried even Yoda's infinite patience.

Anakin wiped his face down, stripping carefully out of his light workout shirt. Dooku's eyes locked on the greenish bruising that traced over his shoulder; it was one of the few things that made Anakin's attitude bearable. He did not know what he would do when the injury healed, when Anakin improved enough to avoid future combat wounds.

Rely on his Master for guidance, he supposed.

"Was there something else?" Anakin asked. He turned, leaning back against the wall to glare at Dooku. "Sloppy footwork?"

His footwork was actually excellent, one of the signifiers of just how quickly Anakin would progress in dueling now that his lessons had resumed , but the boy was arrogant enough without Dooku swelling his head with compliments.

"There was another matter entirely. A message," Dooku replied. He gestured to the panel behind Anakin, blinking with several blocked calls from the command deck. The crew knew better to disturb them during lessons, which was all Dooku needed to confirm precisely what message awaited them. Anakin keyed up the calls in the computer, dismissing the alerts and frowning in consternation at the panel. He didn't like disobedience, but neither did he like missing out on something important.

Dooku cleared his throat and Anakin's attention snapped back to him. He motioned to Anakin and the boy pushed away from the wall, following him curiously out of the training room.

Droids clattered along the hall, cleaning and marching and beset by purposes known only to them and to Anakin. Dooku stepped around them with distaste, sweeping his cloak up and around his body so that it would not snag on a mouse droid. The bridge deck was more sparingly populated, and then only by living beings. They threw casual greetings to Anakin as he entered and he grinned back at them, his ill temper already forgotten. He moved to check on their status in orbit – if there were any detections, any reports in from scouts – but Dooku held out an arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"It is a matter of some importance," Dooku said. "You will agree, I think."

Anakin pulled a face, but Dooku already knew his mercurial moods well enough to know Anakin would not fight him on this. Dooku reached out with the Force, flicking the holo console on.

Padme Amidala's image appeared. She was bedecked in a beautiful dress that twinkled as she moved, hair pinned into an overly elaborate style typical of the Naboo. A small astromech unit stood at her side, her security chief and handmaidens flanking her. A Jedi figure stood, nearly invisible, behind the captain of her guard. Dooku's attention turned to that man, the Jedi his Master had promised him: Obi-Wan Kenobi

Anakin drifted closer to the console, transfixed. Given that he was not yet throwing a tantrum of any sort, Dooku supposed he had not yet noticed his former Master in the hologram.

"I thank you for your time," Amidala said. Her voice was clear and calm, projected with the confidence of one who spoke to large crowds and commanded their attention with ease. "I will keep my comments brief.

"Our Republic stands at a threshold, a defining moment in our history. We have the opportunity to decide for future generations what it is we value, that which we will shape our lives and their future around. For some, it is fear and war. The Military Creation Act will come to the floor and the Senate shall vote, in full, on its passage. I would not stand in its way, because I believe that is as wrong as the bill itself, which must be defeated on its own merits.

"However," she lifted her eyebrows, a small smile on her lips, "The Chancellor has granted me the opportunity to make my case in a grand fashion. As I said, the Military Creation Act will be voted on by a full Senate – myself included, after the conclusion of my mission. I seek peace with the Free Worlds of the Outer Rim. I call upon Anakin Skywalker to meet with myself and a representative from the Jedi Order."

For the first time, thought flickered in Anakin's eyes. He pulled back from the hologram, looking at it in full. A scowl stole across his face as he found Kenobi in the picture.

"We have much to discuss, as equals and as beings who strive for the best of all possible outcomes. I do not wish war and thus I do not wish that the Republic build the means for war. I stake myself and my future on this, Skywalker. And I hope you are willing to do the same.

"Meet with me," she entreated.

Anakin nodded unconsciously, attention fixed once more on the Senator. His hands gripped the console tightly and he leaned forward, a ridiculous expression of longing on his face.

The Senator stepped back in the hologram, ignoring the flurry of questions from the media. Her back turned and the transmission ended. HNN had appended a lengthy post-conference analysis section in their broadcast, but Sidious had wisely trimmed that portion off. He did not need anyone filling Anakin's head with idea that were neither his nor Dooku's.

Anakin hit replay and watched the entire message again, silent, attention rapt. He went to key it again and Dooku, threw out a hand, using the Force to hold Anakin back. The boy shook off the hold easily – far, far too easily for the paltry time he'd spent in training – and hit it again nonetheless, shooting Dooku a lingering glare.

"I hardly see what you will glean from this," Dooku said. "There is little in the way of updraft on that platform."

"I would like to understand her intentions fully," Anakin said through gritted teeth.

"Indeed," Dooku replied disdainfully. He tapped lightly at the controls, bringing up somewhat more relevant information. The timestamp, for one. Amidala's fully disclosed flight plan spring up on the console vid screen.

Grudgingly, Anakin looked away from the Senator. He frowned at the flight plan.

"That interferes with our time line."

"You could always refuse to meet with her," Dooku suggested idly. He chuckled at the look Anakin turned on him. "Or admit that your time line was fanciful at best."

"It wasn't! I just have a few more kinks to work out with the fleet."

Such as having one, Dooku thought snidely. He almost wished Palpatine had sent Gunray instead. The boy had an affinity for droids and, ugliness during the Naboo blockade aside, it was entirely possible that a partnership could be forged there. It would serve Dooku's ends rather better than the circuitous path Sidious had set them upon instead.

"You cannot have it both ways," Dooku intoned severely. He leaned on the console, using his height to tower over Anakin. The boy, as always, stiffened in response, chin up defiantly and he attempted to loom back. He was at a disadvantage; aside from his height, his features were simply too cherubic and fine to take seriously. In a decade or two, perhaps he'd measure up to something. "Your assault on Nal Hutta is ill-conceived and poorly timed. You must wait until you have more resources."

"No, I must strike now! If the intelligence we gathered from Master Luminara's ship..."

Dooku cut a hand angrily through the air.

"If the intelligence from a Jedi's ship is not misleading? Do you listen to yourself? It is nothing but a twisted Jedi plot!"

"They wouldn't do that," Anakin argued.

Dooku calmed. He raised his eyebrows at Anakin skeptically.

"I rather think I know the Jedi better than you do."

"They wouldn't lead me into that kind of trap," Anakin insisted. He froze the holo replay, jabbing a finger at Kenobi. "They want me back, not dead!"

"He does," Dooku said with emphasis. "And he is permitted to act independently, at times. All Jedi are granted such leeway. But the Council may very well wish otherwise for you, my young friend."

"I have enough enemies without you making up more," Anakin complained.

"You would do their work for them, so their numbers hardly matter."

Anakin crossed his arms. The glower fixed on his face made it clear that he was no longer interested in Dooku's input.

"When will the ships from Serenno arrive?" he asked.

"A week, perhaps." Anakin didn't like the sound of it; he hadn't the first time Dooku had told him, either. "As I have said, they are few enough. It is my wealth than is of more importance. We can use that to buy a fleet."

"But not pilots, not crew. Not in the numbers you insist we need."

"I do not insist, the physical realities of war do. It will take time to recruit the numbers we need, which is why I tell you again that your time line is unrealistic."

Anakin raked his hands through his hair, mussing it into wild curls. His eyebrows drew together as he brought up readout after readout on the holo console, shipboard manifests as well as the schematics to his in-progress modifications to the ships. He still had hope of making it all work, seeing the puzzle piece that he needed just in time and fitting everything together. Dooku planned to let him stew until crisis hit. He needed Anakin's desperation as much he needed the boy's fleet and his righteous anger.

Kamino had waited this long, after all. They could wait a few months more.

"Maybe," Anakin bit his lip, looking back at Amidala's frozen image. "Maybe Padme could help."

Dooku felt a surge of irritation.

"Perhaps we should play the message again and this time you should listen," he snapped. "She is against all war."

Anakin's expression was surprisingly mild. The boy was a contradiction. It was when he felt most confident in his beliefs, misguided as they often were, that challenges to his authority fazed him the least.

"She is against war with me. She personally led an assault against the Trade Federation to defend her people and she's a good shot with a blaster. She's no pacifist, Dooku. She'll agree to help us destroy the Hutts and end slavery in the galaxy once and for all," Anakin said. His eyes were bright with idealism as he looked to the Senator, a small, excited smile on his face. "She's a good person. You'll see."

Anakin didn't wait for Dooku to reply to his truly horrendous logic. He turned to the communications officer.

"Send out an official welcome to the Senator and keep an eye out for her ship – tell the fighters to broadcast on a friendly frequency and form up as an honor guard to bring her in. And tell me the moment she gets here. I've got other matters to handle right now, down on the planet."

Dooku did appreciate the boy's frequent sojourns down to Tatooine. The bright burn of Anakin's Force presence lessened some with distance. It gave Dooku some breathing room.

"And Kenobi?" Dooku asked. Anakin was already at the threshold of the door. He stopped, one fist braced against the wall as he looked out into the cluttered, droid filled hall.

"Well, it's not like we can kill him without ruining my chances with Padme," Anakin said after a moment. Dooku forbore comment on the phrasing, though his estimation of its crass honesty most certainly reached Anakin through the Force. "Let him come along. Just keep an eye on him."

"As if I intended otherwise," Dooku said haughtily.

"Then why did you ask?"

Anakin stalked away with all the thunderous indignation that only a teenager could manage, the door snapping shut behind him.

It would be nice to have Kenobi around, Dooku mused, if only to be once more in the presence of a respectable Force user.


	3. Chapter 3

_Five Years Ago_

The way Obi-Wan handled the smugglers was masterful. Anakin had kept to the side, trying to be a good, silent Padawan as he watched his Master manipulate the rough and canny beings into a corner. No, they did not benefit from slavery – none of them ran the slaves themselves and it wasn't like slaves bought things. No, they weren't particularly loyal to Jabba – he was just as likely to send bounty hunters after them as to pay them on time. Yes, they did have a lot on the line here – warzones were certainly easy to smuggle in, but smugglers liked their hides in one piece, and it wasn't like Tatooine had a strict port authority to begin with.

Obi-Wan had left them to mull it over. Everyone knew where the slaves were gathered and everyone knew a turning point was coming. If the slaves didn't strike now, Jabba would, and even smugglers had consciences. At least, a few of them did.

Hopefully.

It was late at night when the message came it: a quick burst, short range transmission. A Trandoshan's croaking voice: "We're in."

"How can we trust them?" Shmi asked. Her hands worked together worriedly and Anakin placed his over them on the table, bringing out a small, surprised smile from her.

"We will trust in the Force," Obi-Wan replied. "For the moment, I sense no duplicity."

Anakin nodded. He felt as much from the Force. The smugglers were on their side. They would play their part in the plan. He could see it, with almost crystalline clarity, Force tinged. It was hard to feel fear with that kind of bone deep certainty guiding him.

The Jawas had also been easy to bring on-board. They wanted salvage rights to Jabba's palace. They would take them anyway, Anakin knew, but settlers did tend to destroy things to prevent Jawas from getting them. He gave his word that they would leave as much intact as possible for the Jawas and return their borrowed equipment besides.

The Sand People were ciphers. After meeting with what Obi-Wan thought was a clan leader, his account of the Tusken's involvement was little more than a shrug.

"I believe they will help us," he said uncertainly. "They said they will not impede us, certainly."

"Did they?" Anakin asked.

"Not in so many words... but I did feel we came to an agreement. Of sorts."

Owen led a small group of farmers to the homestead, a grim but pleased smile on his face. There hadn't been many who would commit to the cause, but there hadn't been opposition either. Owen insisted that was a good thing.

"For the future," he said.

And while Anakin could see his point, he was more interested in the here and now. Having support from the farmers five years from now didn't mean much if they all died in the assault tomorrow morning.

But the ones who did come were helpful. They were old, battle hardened men. They'd lived tough lives in the deserts and not only knew how to navigate the Wastes, but how to fire blaster rifles. Slaves were rarely taught that kind of thing. More than one of the farmer had even led a search and rescue party before, fighting to save family members from the Sand People. They were wary of the alliance Obi-Wan had supposedly created, but willing to share their tactical experience.

Anakin walked through the slave camp as the first sun dawned on the horizon. The night's chill had not yet faded and he wrapped his cloak around himself. They planned to leave most of the former slaves here in the camp because they were unfit for battle, untrained, too young or old, or simply too unpredictable from years of abuse. But those who would come were already up, preparing for the fight ahead. A hardy looking woman with a face that might as well have been sandblasted for all the years of work and weather Anakin could see on it was giving a young man final pointers on blaster use outside one of the tents.

Anakin hoped he would see them both later. That they'd survive this.

"Oh, Ani!" An old woman's voice gasped behind him. He turned, recognizing Jira with surprise. She stood to embrace him, looking up at him with kind fondness. "I knew it was you. You came back for us."

"I had to."

Jira patted his cheek with a gnarled hand.

"You were always such a good boy, Ani. We all knew you were meant for something special."

Anakin felt the knot in his chest loosen, his fears about the day's battle disappearing. He was. Even the Jedi saw that. He was destined, Chosen, and now he knew what he was destined for.

"I'm going to free everyone, Jira," he said. He held her gaze intensely. He remembered the cheers of the crowd on Boonta Eve, slaves coming out to feel victory, as momentary and meaningless as it was for them. He'd won his freedom, left them behind to suffer, and they'd cheered anyway when they saw him win the race. He could do better than that now, he could lead them into a real future. "I promise you."

"We know. That's why we're following you."

Anakin frowned.

"What? Jira, you can't come to Jabba's palace. You don't know how to fight. You'll just..."

Jira's eyes were full of light, her hands firm on his shoulders.

"I know. We'll do it for you, Ani. Because you came back."

Anakin stared at her, trying to comprehend the belief she – and everyone else in the camp – had in him. He nodded slowly, head down as he tried to bear the weight of their expectations. He straightened with determination. He had to. It was what he owed them.

She released him and Anakin stood there in a daze, watching her walk away. Slowly, other voices filtered through to him. His mother and Obi-Wan, speaking quietly in a nearby hut. He stretched out in the Force and realized, without much surprise, that they were talking about him. Quietly, he crept closer.

Obi-Wan paused in what he was saying, sending a pulse of irritation through the Force to Anakin, before continuing, "... I cannot say with surety."

Anakin took that as license to listen in. Obi-Wan knew. Therefore, it was not eavesdropping.

"Will he be punished?" Shmi asked, though her tone belied the wording. She did not believe in a world without consequence, where Anakin could fight by her side without suffering for it.

Obi-Wan hesitated before answering.

"The punishments of the Jedi are nothing to fear. We believe in correction, in learning from errors. Pursuing a better path the next time we face a difficult decision."

That was a rather undeservedly high minded way of putting it. Anakin remembered scrubbing the training room showers out more than once, mouse droids following him around in confusion; it was hard to say that was "pursuing a better path" rather than a punishment. He sent that flash of memory over to Obi-Wan who batted it aside with annoyance.

"He will remain a Jedi? You will still train him?"

Anakin felt his heart stop. She was desperate for those answers. Anakin had never even considered the questions, not really. Sure, he'd be punished when he got back to the Temple, but that was the point. He'd be going back.

"I –" Obi-Wan stopped. Anakin could feel the conflict inside him. He didn't know, Anakin realized with horror. And he didn't know what he should say to Shmi, to Anakin, aware that he was listening in. Finally, he said, "I hope to."

Anakin tucked his hands into his sleeves, hunching his shoulders. He'd never felt this cold on Tatooine before.

He did not find Obi-Wan again until they were making ready for the assault. He had his datapad out, checking over the inventory on a modified speeder. Obi-Wan had been entrusted with the final checks on everything, though some of the farmers grumbled about it. He was the only professional in the group, Obi-Wan asserted, and he was more than willing to take on the responsibility of ensuring their preparedness. What the farmers didn't hear, but Anakin did, was that as a Jedi, the responsibility of failure also fell on him. They had a duty to everyone in the camp; no one could lift that burden from them.

"They're all coming, you know," Anakin said. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, hands in fists. Obi-Wan did not look up from the datapad, so Anakin clarified, "All of the slaves."

"Former slaves," Obi-Wan corrected idly.

Anakin glared at him.

"I know what I am," he snapped.

"Do you? You are a Jedi, Anakin, but you have been behaving like anything but."

Anakin flinched away from his Master's words. That wasn't what he'd come here to talk about.

"They're all coming with us. They'll die," Anakin pressed.

Obi-Wan sighed and set the datapad down on the hood of the speeder. Nearby, Owen looked up at them, grumbling something before continuing the checks he was doing on the rifles. The camp was milling with activity, nervous energy. Anakin could feel the frisson of it along his nerves, winding him up further. Obi-Wan, he was sure, had no trouble pushing aside the feelings of others to keep his Jedi calm.

"I do not know what you thought would happen when you began this venture," Obi-Wan said. His gray eyes were cool, mildly regretful. "But this is the way of war, Anakin. People die in battles. Innocents more than warriors, and we do not have the time to train anyone here to become more than what they were."

"They are already more than what they were!" Anakin replied hotly. "They just needed the chance!"

Obi-Wan gave him a half smile. He reached out to clap a hand on Anakin's shoulder, shaking him slightly.

"Indeed and I am glad you will give them the chance – truly, I want you to understand that, Padawan. Your heart is in the right place. It is merely your actions that need work." Anakin didn't really know what to do with that kind of praise, couched in criticism as it was. Thankfully, Obi-Wan didn't wait for a reaction from him, rubbing one finger across his mustache as he continued, "They did need training, though. You wouldn't be so fearful otherwise."

"I'm not –" Anakin started. Obi-Wan quelled him with a look. His fears were precisely what he'd wanted to discuss. Anakin ducked his head, kicking a toe into the sand. He might as well admit that. Quietly, he asked, "How will you do it?"

"Do what, Padawan?"

"How will we live with ourselves?" Anakin asked again, more honestly this time. He studied the sand sliding off the black leather of his boot. "When they die?"

Obi-Wan waited for Anakin to look up, meeting his eyes firmly.

"As Jedi," he said. "Together."

Anakin wanted to believe Obi-Wan, that he would still be a Jedi after the assault, when dusk fell on Tatooine. The hair of his neck prickled at the thought; the future was in motion, tumbling down a path even Anakin couldn't see. It filled him with dread.

* * *

_Now_

After another, much more thorough search of the ship, Obi-Wan settled in the middle of the pilot's cabin, legs cross and hands on his knees as he meditated. Padme asked Artoo to monitor their flight path before retiring to her quarters to freshen up. She toweled her hair dry, sitting in a dressing gown at the small desk set into the wall as she read up on the Free Worlds.

They would be holding elections soon, she read with interest. No actual constitution had been written, or even proposed, to unify the governments of the systems. They were just now taking the first steps, selecting representatives to host a constitutional convention.

Anakin, it appeared, had held himself entirely apart from the process. Padme pondered what to make of that. The Republic – and the Trade Federation particularly – insisted that Anakin was all but emperor of the Outer Rim. There was little fear that he would lose power in these elections, but at the same time, he wasn't trying to secure his position. He could put himself forward for President of the Free Worlds, but had done no such thing. The most he had done was promise protection during the course of the elections and the convention, ensuring their safety.

He had not made any public statements about whether he would attend the conference – or even if he would vote. His statements on the democratic process seemed ambivalent at best.

"Free beings don't need a government controlling their lives," he was quoted as saying as recently as – Padme scrolled up on the document – six months ago. Younger, fresh from his successes in the two years ago Sluis sector, he'd disavowed any plans to take power, "All the Free Worlds need from me is my lightsaber – and steady aim with a blaster. They'll figure the rest out themselves."

That quote was accompanied by a full color picture. Padme studied it, trying to reconcile this defiant young man with the wild, blinding smile with little Ani. With the Anakin Skywalker whose fleet was on the verge of war with the entire Republic. She shook her head slowly to herself. She could see pieces of him, held over from one age to the next, but only that. He changed so much, so quickly.

What was she walking into here?

She continued to read through dozens of accounts from freed slaves and embittered "businessmen" run off of their worlds, from diplomats and the handful of Jedi who had encountered Anakin. The last set of files were highly redacted, leaving Padme rubbing at her forehead in frustration. None of Obi-Wan's reports were even available.

Eventually, she ran out of files. Her hair dry, she plaited it in a simple, single braid over her shoulder and selected one of her more casual outfits, just dark pants and a tunic. She would need to change again before they officially arrived, but she wanted some time to mull over what impression she wanted to make on Anakin. And for that, she would need to discuss matters more with Obi-Wan.

While Jedi did not appreciate the fine art of appearance, he was still the one who knew Anakin best and the only one who wanted their mission to succeed more than Padme did.

Obi-Wan was in much the same position Padme had left him in, though Artoo was not. The little droid had rocked forward on his treads, as if peering at the Jedi. Padme stifled a smile at the sight.

"If you would, Senator, I appreciate being left unmolested."

"He's just curious."

"It is a droid and it has its own duties to attend to," Obi-Wan said. He cracked his eyes open to glare at Artoo, who warbled innocently in response.

"Why don't you go down to maintenance, Artoo?" Padme suggested. "There's an autoscrubber with your name on it."

Artoo swiveled his dome, lights flickering petulantly. She raised her eyebrows at him and, with a sullen little whir, the astromech rolled past her, toward the lower decks.

"You remind me of Anakin," Obi-Wan said. For all that the subject of his apprentice was unprompted, pain was visible on his face.

"Because of Artoo?" Padme asked, although she already knew. Ani had been so proud, showing off the protocol droid he built, fussy, strange personality and all. Padme wasn't bad at maintenance, really, considering that it was well outside her specialty, but she wouldn't even know where to begin to build a droid. To do that as a child was a marvel.

"You are kind to droids," Obi-Wan said. He unfolded himself, pushing himself easily to his feet. "He always said it was a mark of good character when a person is kind without needing to be."

Padme smiled slightly.

"And what did you say to that?"

"That kindness without purpose is no replacement for good works."

"Pragmatic," she said.

"But he was not wrong," Obi-Wan added after a moment. He looked toward the door Artoo had exited through. "We do give them a certain personality, real or imagined, and how we treat them reflects our inner selves. There is no harm in treating them well."

Padme nodded, letting the subject drop. It was beside the point with regards to Anakin. She was quite aware of his feelings on how people treated those they considered their lessers. Obi-Wan glanced to the flight readout, puzzlement apparent as he checked the time. It was well before they were due to arrive at Tatooine.

"Was there something you wished to discuss, Senator?"

Padme waved him toward the seats, taking the pilot's chair as her own. She still had her datapad in hand.

"Strategy," she said simply.

Obi-Wan inclined his head. It was not necessary for her to say aloud that he knew Anakin better than she did, that his advice was welcome; perhaps she should make a point that she did not wish for them to work at cross purposes, but she let that matter lie for the moment. She did not want to hear again the danger Jedi children were considered to be.

"Very well."

"Do you believe he would join the Republic?" she asked.

Padme had been entirely sincere in proposing that to Palpatine, though she was doubtful that it was truly on the table. The holomessages, the interdiction zone, even the way Anakin had left the Jedi Order – it all spoke to a belief that the Republic was broken beyond repair, that he wanted nothing to do with it. He wasn't wrong, she thought sadly, to think the Republic had not served him. But Padme was not prepared to give up on the Republic. It was a flawed system, as were all governments. There was no such thing as starting from scratch, no way to wipe away the past, and no reasonable argument to even try. They lived with the full weight of the past, a legacy to live up to as much as a history to repent.

But Anakin was an idealist – as much as Padme herself had been as Queen. He wanted absolute solutions, pure causes and morally impeccable answers. She believed that she could convince him to see joining the Republic as righteous in its own way, rather than merely a compromise.

"He does not think of himself that way," Obi-Wan said. It wasn't quite an answer. He pointed to her datapad. "He does not think he is a politician."

"It's amazing how few do," Padme replied lightly.

Obi-Wan chuckled.

"I assume you count yourself among those?"

"At times. I know what I am, but I do try to rise above it."

"And do you succeed?

"At times." Padme smiled at him. He was facing forward, hands idle on the co-pilot's controls. The corner of his mouth had turned up, however, a sideways hint that he felt her smile even if he did not see it. After a pause, Padme continued, "He has very good numbers, you know."

Obi-Wan swung around to stare at her, half smile disappearing in an instant. Padme looked at him steadily, unapologetically. She did enjoy his company, but they had rather strayed from the point of their discussion.

"Numbers? My Padawan has polling numbers? That's appalling."

"Everyone has numbers," Padme told him. "Yours are not bad. Certainly better than most Jedi."

Obi-Wan sputtered.

"I am not running for office! And neither is Anakin."

His tone said that, rogue freedom fighter or not, he absolutely forbade his Padawan from doing such a thing. Jedi do run true to type, Padme thought.

"He should. He would win."

Obi-Wan waited for a beat, for the punchline, but Padme was not joking. It would certainly be the cleanest resolution to this diplomatic crisis. Governments had formed under far less legitimate conditions. The Free Worlds had never been in the Republic, so their repudiation of the Senate up until now was no kind of treason. And declaring independence from the Hutts and the Zygerrians could be considered nothing less than justice.

"Run? For what office?" Obi-Wan asked. The revulsion in his voice was stark.

This time it was Padme's turn to stare.

"Our mission is to bring the Free Worlds into the Republic." It was clear to Padme now that she had an entirely different sense of what that meant than Obi-Wan did. He saw the Free Worlds as something to be a signed over. Anakin's role would end, he hoped, and the Free Worlds would fall under Republic dominion. It seemed a naïve fantasy, though Padme was cautious to say so aloud. She added, "Anakin would be the obvious choice for their Senator."

Obi-Wan looked decidedly queasy at the idea.

"Do you really hate politicians that much, Master Jedi?"

"Yoda is not here to offend, so there's no reason grant unearned titles," he sniped back. "And while I am aware of your mission, I would hope you would remember mine. I intend for Anakin to become a Jedi once more.

"Besides, that's a terrible idea and you know it."

"Oh, I don't know about that," she said loftily. "There are far less diplomatic members of the Senate. I doubt that Anakin would ever send an assassin after an opponent."

Obi-Wan snorted, a shadow of his good humor reasserting itself.

"Only because he'd leap across to the next delegation's pod to fight them himself. Can you even imagine? Are Senators allowed lightsabers on the floor?"

Padme could not recall if there was a specific mention of lightsabers in the parliamentary code, but It was very thorough. She'd had some of her sharper hairpins taken from her at times. If lightsabers were not in there, she would imagine it was due to some trickery by an ancient Jedi Master rather than true negligence.

"Do you think it is possible?" she asked, rather than answer his question. Her eyes raked over his face, watching for a reaction she knew would be subtle, nearly invisible when it came. "Can we bring him home?"

The light faded in Obi-Wan's eyes.

"I do not set out on impossible missions, Senator," he said.

That was hardly true. The Jedi set themselves up for failure all the time; it was something Padme admired about them. Even the certainty of failure was not enough to dissuade them, when they knew the cause was true. She'd been much the same when she was younger.

"What would it take?"

Obi-Wan cupped his jaw in his hand, fingers splayed over his mouth. He watched the whorls of hyperspace in silence.

"He would have to believe his mission was complete," he said eventually, dropping his hand.

"Is there any point where it will be?"

It was the conundrum of any military state. They promised to cede power when the situation was stable, but invited attacks with their existence. And Anakin's military was not content to merely protect the Free Worlds. He was constantly in expansion, seeking slavers to depose, slaves to free. His work was as infinite as the Jedi Order's, if he truly committed himself. There was no reason to believe he would not.

"I don't know," Obi-Wan said quietly. "He has sacrificed much already. That makes it … difficult to walk away, to leave matters in other hands."

Padme felt a swell of sympathy for Obi-Wan. Was there a moment when he could talk of Anakin without speaking of himself as well? Perhaps not. Perhaps that was not the way of Masters and Padawans. But it seemed clear that it was more than simply the Jedi way reflected in Obi-Wan's words. He had lost his own Master, ruined his reputation within the Order. He'd never walk away from Anakin now, not when he'd paid such a high price already.

"We need to find someone he can trust," Padme said definitively. "If he could be persuaded to leave the Free World's in their hands, then there is a chance. What about this Dooku?"

Obi-Wan scowled immediately. Padme had never seen such a sudden expression of anger from a Jedi before and recoiled reflexively.

"Dooku is the last person he should trust," Obi-Wan said.

There was a wealth of information about Dooku of Serenno, though Padme had only done the most cursory of searches about him. His decades long career as a Jedi Master was well documented. From what Padme had read, his deeds were quite admirable. He'd been the closest the Jedi had to a politician, a clever and careful negotiator that reconciled interplanetary disputes easily. His file was quieter about his reasons for leaving the Jedi Order, phrasing it only as a retirement. But Jedi didn't retire.

It was a point Padme had planned to follow up on – and clearly it was a topic that Obi-Wan had strong opinions on.

"I've read that he's quite a diplomat. He would seem ideal as a leader for the Free Worlds," Padme said, watching Obi-Wan carefully. "Or an adviser, at least. You disagree?" Padme asked.

"He's a Sith," Obi-Wan pronounced. His shoulders had tensed, eyes narrowed in defiance. He expected some kind of argument from her.

That word conjured memories of the invasion of Naboo, ten years ago. Padme had seen only the barest glimpse of the man who killed Qui-Gon Jinn, but she still remembered it vividly.

Obi-Wan had debriefed her personally in the days after their victory, as the ashes of his Master cooled and the celebratory lights in Theed faded. He had not had much information for her then, only enough to disabuse her of any fairy tale notions she had of the Sith.

"Alright," she said, keeping her voice steady as she pushed aside the memories. She gave Obi-Wan a nod, taking his word on the matter.

Surprise lit in Obi-Wan's eyes. He passed a hand over his face, breathing deeply and evenly. He gave her a rueful look, acknowledging that he had quite forgotten with whom he was speaking.

"I apologize, Senator. This is a matter that has become a longstanding dispute with the Council," he said. Padme took that to heart. She had seen enough to understand the rift between Obi-Wan and the High Council. "But as we are currently talking strategy, it is rather important that I explain my concerns regarding Dooku.

"I believe he is a Sith Lord and I believe he seeks to corrupt Anakin to the Dark Side, to sow war in the galaxy and ultimately to destroy the Jedi Order."

He gave her a thin smile.

"Nothing to worry about, really."

Padme leaned forward, shoulders squared as she looked up at Obi-Wan, her eyebrows coming together in puzzlement. It was troubling to think such a matter was the source of a dispute between him and the Council.

"But the Council disagrees?"

"Indeed," Obi-Wan said. There was a small, unpleasant smile on his face.

And yet they had sent him out here. Either they felt there was enough merit to his claims – enough danger in ignoring them – that it was worth following up on, or they trusted him to act according to his orders, regardless of his own suspicions.

Padme leaned her cheek on her hand. It seemed that matters were even more complex than she had originally thought.

"I think we'll be talking this way often, Obi-Wan," she said. "We'll need to be careful of Dooku and whatever influence he is exerting on Anakin. We will need a focused strategy. Our first impression on Anakin needs to be strong."

"Oh, it will be," Obi-Wan said. "But I assume Anakin's saber skills have lapsed somewhat, so I think I shall survive."

Padme sighed.

* * *

Tatooine looked precisely the same as Obi-Wan remembered, a dusty, brown planet that glowed with a black body index nearing that of a small star, so intense was the reflected heat of its twin stars. Tatoo I and Tatoo II peeked around the blue-tinged curve of the planet as the ship re-entered real-space, the night side of Tatooine barely visible without their light. Obi-Wan as able to pick out only tiny settlements in the darkness of the deserts and wastelands.

Above the planet, starships swarmed.

"Oh my," Padme said, putting a hand to her mouth.

After a rather interminable consultation, Padme had disappeared back to her cabin, changing into an outfit that she deemed suitable for her first meeting with the leader of the Free Worlds. Obi-Wan's gaze kept sliding back to her, wondering quite how she'd managed such a complex hairstyle by herself. Perhaps Artoo's arm extensions reached that far.

Fashion was by no means his forte, but Obi-Wan thought the entire ensemble was quite pleasing. She wore a pale peach dress, falling in gentle waves that left her shoulders bare, its color fading to dusty mauve where it brushed the cockpit floor. Padme had questioned if the dress was quite appropriate for a diplomatic mission, prompting a retort that Obi-Wan assumed so, since she was the diplomat and she had chosen to pack it.

To be fair, Obi-Wan thought that the effect on Anakin would be entirely inappropriate, which was why he'd advocated it. He hoped that Anakin's crush on Padme had survived intact; an Anakin struck speechless by her beauty was an Anakin with whom Obi-Wan had the opportunity to get a word in edgewise.

Most of the ships around Tatooine were small, freighters of the sort than smugglers typically used. Obi-Wan's eyes tracked the course of one as it swooped around Tatooine, path crisscrossing with dozens more ships – in formation, they acted as an ad hoc orbital shield, in place of defense platforms.

"I think," Obi-Wan started. He swallowed deeply, a pit in his stomach. "I believe I recognize that ship."

Padme directed a look his way, which he ignored.

He had made many mistakes on Nar Shadda, in his attempt to bring Anakin back to his side. His plan back then had been much the same as Padme's proposed plan: end Anakin's mission. But while Padme acknowledged that it was truly a never ending battle and one they merely needed to convince Anakin to delegate to another, Obi-Wan had not taken that tack. He had tried to help Anakin win. Given him the means to it. He had expanded the circle of their smuggler allies beyond those who betrayed Jabba originally, folding in hundreds more. The intent had been to stop slave trafficking by cutting out those willing to transport them. Anakin had seen it in a different light. He'd seen ships and experienced fighters.

And yet, of the mistakes Obi-Wan had made with Anakin, it was difficult to say that building a fleet for him was one he regretted. At least this one kept Anakin safe.

A small wing of fighters broke orbit, plotting a vector to Obi-Wan and Padme's position.

A voice crackled in over the comm, fuzzed by loud engines, "You have entered restricted space. Identify yourself."

Obi-Wan pressed a button on the console, leaning forward to speak.

"This is the diplomatic vessel Arcadia, bearing dual Naboo and Coruscanti port registry, Aurek Thesh one-six-six-five," Obi-Wan stated. Any civilized being should recognize, by virtue of the very, very short registry number, that the owner of the ship was quite high ranking indeed. He continued glibly, "We were invited."

"The Senator?" the pilot asked suspiciously. She didn't wait for an answer, cutting the transmission. The fighters continued their course.

Padme took her controls in hand, preparing for the worst. Obi-Wan shook his head marginally.

"Poor equipment," he explained. "They can't keep two lines open simultaneously. They're likely checking back with their base."

The red comm light flared back to life and Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow in Padme's direction. She let go of the ship's control to hit the comm again.

"Transmit your authentication codes." Obi-Wan already had, actually, but if their equipment was that old, they would not have received it. The fighter sent out a ping and Obi-Wan responded, setting up a two way link for the codes. A flight plan followed, filtering in slowly. He tapped a finger against the console, waiting for it to be received in full. The pilot continued after a lengthy wait, "You are clear for hangar 4 on the flagship Emancipator."

The connection ended. Obi-Wan inspected the coordinators they'd been sent. Padme leaned over, frowning as she glanced between the coordinates and the fleet in front of them.

"That's his flagship?" she asked in surprise.

The ship in question was certainly nothing to look at. It was large enough, certainly, the only capital ship in the fleet. Obi-Wan recognized the design as Mandalorian – just short of ancient, and weathered enough that he wondered if it was the design alone that was that old.

"I'm beginning to wonder what everyone was so worried about," Padme said. She sat back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. Her expression was deeply unimpressed.

"It may not shine like the Naboo fleet," Obi-Wan said. "But I suspect it has virtues nonetheless. If I know Anakin, every single one of his ships has been modified well beyond the specs."

"The fighters can't keep two comm lines open at once."

"Don't make my mistakes, milady. Don't underestimate Anakin."

The skepticism dropped from Padme's expression.

"I don't intend to. I suppose I'm more pleased than I should be – if his military is no real threat, then our mission is half finished already. Even Nute Gunray can't fear monger without any substance at all."

He'd done an admirable job so far, Obi-Wan thought. But the absence of information was often just as threatening as actual danger. A thorough report might well dispel the fears the Trade Federation had conjured up for the Senate.

The fighters escorted the Arcadia toward the Emancipator. Padme's hands were light on the controls, piloting personally rather than allowing the computer or Artoo to take over. It was odd to be in the company of someone who piloted for pleasure rather than necessity, but then, it had been a rather long time since Obi-Wan had known anyone to do more than their duty. His missions, even alongside other Jedi, had been coldly professional for some time now.

Obi-Wan happily ignored his own set of controls, instead tracing the warm glow of Anakin's presence. Their training bond remained, strained by distance and time, but never formally cut. This close, he could feel the familiar, worn path in the Force that led directly to Anakin. It was like a dry river bed, awaiting rain.

And its course ran the other direction.

Without realizing, Obi-Wan's head had turned from the Emancipator to the planet itself.

"Anakin isn't there," he said.

Padme didn't look away from her heading, but it was a near thing.

"What?"

"He's not on the ship," Obi-Wan said. "He's on Tatooine."

She shrugged one shoulder.

"Then we'll meet with Dooku first..."

"My lady, if you leave me alone with a Sith Lord, there will be but one survivor," Obi-Wan said tensely.

"That would be an abrupt end to our mission." She hit the autopilot, a line creased between her eyebrows as she looked to him. "And too rash by far."

"They say a Jedi does not begin his education until he takes a Padawan. I learned a great deal from my own."

Padme didn't seem to think the situation was funny. They remained on the landing vector to the Emancipator. Obi-Wan searched for the gaping darkness of a Sith presence, all but burned into his memory, but he found nothing. Neither did he find a Jedi, though it was often hard to see one against the blinding light of Anakin.

"What are you proposing?" Padme asked.

"Nothing too drastic," Obi-Wan said before turning the autopilot off. Padme made a short, annoyed sound as he wiped away the flight plan, taking the controls in his hands.

He had indeed learned a lot from Anakin. Fancy flying, for one thing. How best to form an ill-advised plan, for another.

The Arcadia was not as speedy a craft as a fighter, nor as maneuverable. But surprise, and the Force, were on Obi-Wan's side. He juked hard to left, wings slicing between their escorts. The fighters snapped around onto his tail, speed belying the age and look of their ships.

"Arcadia, you are off course," the escort pilot from before said tersely.

"Obi-Wan..." Padme said.

"They will not shoot us down," Obi-Wan replied. He took a hand off the controls to start programming a new course, down to the homestead he remembered too well. "Anakin would have their heads if they killed you, my lady."

"And while I appreciate being used as a human shield," Padme started, "I do not approve of this tactic. This is still a diplomatic mission first!"

Obi-Wan could feel the righteous burn of her anger next to him.

The shields snapped on as Obi-Wan took them down, easing them through the fires of reentry. He could see their escort out the view port – it had grown. The fighters had been joined by a ship Obi-Wan recognized as a Firespray. It swooped in front of them as the fighters dipped down beneath them, trying to push Arcadia up and out of the atmosphere once more. Obi-Wan ignored the tactic; aside from being futile, it was incredibly dangerous. All they did was risk Obi-Wan forcing them to crash. Obi-Wan hoped that this was not what Anakin's training amount to – although, in all honesty, he had trouble imagining Anakin endorsing it. He would favor a more directly aggressive tactic. This kind of flying was meant for skittish transport and long haul cargo pilots. The types that pirates targeted.

"This is not the first impression we discussed."

"You'd rather go through Dooku? Let him decide when we see Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked. He flicked the controls to the left, tilting the Arcadia toward a fighter that was skimming too close for Obi-Wan's taste. The fighter pulled up sharply and then looped back down, steadying into a more cautious vanguard position.

Tatooine coalesced underneath them, dusty and brown, pocked with tiny white settlements. If Obi-Wan had any doubt at all that Anakin would be found at the Lars homestead, it vanished on approach. He could be in Mos Espa, at what passed for a central government, but Anakin's Force presence was clear and distinct, centered in that small farmhouse as Obi-Wan set the ship down.

Padme stood slowly from the pilot's seat, gaze set on the homestead. There were remnants of the slave encampment from years before – a few small huts that had apparently become permanent. A black scored line, burned into the bedrock and covered only partially by shifting sands. She would have read of it, know some of the past, Obi-Wan was sure, but there was no way it could be as viscerally jarring to see as it was for Obi-Wan. He knew life had moved on for Anakin. He knew Anakin did not live in the past, in that day.

Obi-Wan was not sure he could say the same.

"Does he live here?" Padme asked.

Obi-Wan shivered as the words echoed his thought; but that was not what she means at all, he reminded himself.

He cleared his throat, arching an eyebrow at her.

"On the ground? I should think not. No, I believe Anakin is true to his name. As ever."

"Then why – " Padme cut herself off as the escort ships set down nearby, blowing dust up around the homestead. She rubbed at her forehead, obviously displeased. She said, "I suppose we should make our case."

She keyed something on the console, signaling down to Artoo, and then put the ship into full lockdown mode. Obi-Wan could see her point there. None of the fighters had enough space for prisoners, so there would be no way to force them off planet without getting their cooperation in the matter. Of course, there was still the matter of the Firespray. Obi-Wan scanned the forward port again and then looked at the sensors. Odd. He distinctly remembered it making planetfall with them.

Already, Padme was at the door out of the cockpit.

"Are you coming?" she asked.

Obi-Wan closed down the sensor readout and turned to follow her out.

The heat of Tatooine was impossible to forget – or so Obi-Wan had thought. He shrugged awkwardly inside his robes, trying to readjust them, as he and Padme descended the gangplank. The suns were bright in the sky and he lifted a hand to shade his eyes, squinting toward a large canopy erected near one of the remaining tents. There was a speeder underneath, as well as a rather large pile of junk. Several swoops were parked nearby, either next in line for maintenance or just finished. All the vehicles had the blue pattern that Obi-Wan remembered well. It had been Anakin's personal flag, the one from his pod race, the one he painted onto his bedroom wall in the Jedi Temple. The swoops and speeder were official, then. For patrols.

A girl perched on the hood of the speeder looked up at their approach. Owen leaped out of the driver's seat, moving himself in front of her. A pair of legs stuck out from under the speeder. It seemed Anakin was determined to ignore Obi-Wan.

The escort pilots came up behind Padme and Obi-Wan, weapons drawn. Obi-Wan gave each of them a skeptical look before approaching Owen. He bowed to the boy, not expecting it to be returned, and offered an extended hand.

"You look well," Obi-Wan said. Owen eyed him suspiciously, taking Obi-Wan's hand after a long moment. He squeezed it in a hard handshake and then dropped it, wiping his hand on his trousers. Obi-Wan decided not to take offense. "How is your -"

"Leg?" Owen cut him off. "It's fine."

"I was going to say brother, but I am glad to hear it," Obi-Wan said mildly.

Owen looked back over his shoulder to where Anakin continued to work. The girl was speaking to Anakin in quiet tones, leaning backwards over the edge of the speeder to hand him tools.

"Allow me to introduce myself," Padme said, she pitched her voice loudly, hoping for Anakin to hear. It isn't as though Anakin doesn't know we are here, Obi-Wan thought. She gave Owen a thin, serious smile. "I am Senator Padme Amidala of Naboo. I wish to speak with Anakin Skywalker, to open diplomatic relations between the Free Worlds and the Republic."

Obi-Wan could feel the mounting struggle in Anakin. He wanted to see Padme. He absolutely did. But that desire was threaded through with fear, with anger. Finally, with what amounted to a shrug in the Force, Anakin pushed himself out from under the speeder.

He looked good, Obi-Wan admitted. He'd said as much of Owen, but that was easier to admit. On Nar Shadda, the boy had been thin, run ragged trying to keep up with Anakin's insane missions. Living a Jedi life with none of the training, none of the abilities. Anakin had nearly ground his brother into dust, all without realizing. But even Anakin himself had been feeling the toll, Obi-Wan realized. Pale from over a year of shadows, going from one planet to the next, taking down small time slavers and criminals, Anakin had barely looked like himself at all.

Obi-Wan's interference on Nar Shadda may not have netted him Anakin, and it may have escalated Anakin's mission rather than ending it, but he could not say it did no good. Owen's leg aside, of course.

And then he'd thrown it away on Zygerria. He remembered well the burning anger in Anakin's eyes, the hatred.

He saw little of that now, but that didn't make it any easier to breathe. Obi-Wan watched Anakin, heart in his throat with fear and anticipation as the boy approached.

Beside Obi-Wan, Padme raised her hand to her mouth. Her attention was fixed on Anakin as well. Her eyes traced over the way his shirt clung to his shoulders, chest visible through the thin material. It was half tucked into trousers that were, frankly, far too tight.

Anakin brought up a hand, rubbing engine grease off his face. His gaze took a long moment to travel up Padme's form before locking eyes with her.

"I am open to a relationship," Anakin said roughly. His eyes widened momentarily, and he fumbled to explain, "I mean. A diplomatic one."

Obi-Wan felt a headache coming on. Next to him, Owen cringed in embarrassment. Neither Anakin nor Padme seemed to notice.

The escort pilots strode forward, placing themselves between the small group and Anakin. They held their blasters steadily on Obi-Wan and Padme. Obi-Wan kindly moved more clearly into the line of sight of the female pilot, keeping Owen out of danger.

"Sir," said the pilot Obi-Wan had spoken to. She glared at Obi-Wan. "They disobeyed your instructions. We'll take them back up to the Emancipator immediately."

"It's alright. Disobedience looks good on them."

"But sir!"

Anakin leveled a glare at the pilot that immediately shut her up. The girl on the speeder slid off, walking lightly over to Owen. She took his hand and looked to Anakin.

"Then we'll talk inside?" she asked. "Over dinner?"

"I would like that," Padme said to the girl, who flushed.

Anakin stepped past the pilot who tried, nonetheless, to angle herself as his defender. The other pilot had a bored, impatient look on his face. It seemed he'd wanted to get the all clear and get back in space already.

"Padme, I'd like you to meet my family. This is my brother, Owen," he said, clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder. "And this is his girlfriend, Beru."

Padme inclined her head to them in turn, smiling genuinely to both. She looked over to Obi-Wan. He could feel how pleased she was by this turn of events and, in the clumsy way that non-Force sensitives had, she deliberately made herself feel apologetic, trying to push that feeling Obi-Wan's direction. He had felt as much already from her, the emotion already present before she consciously tried to feel it for his benefit. Still, he supposed that it was a nice gesture from her.

"It is good to meet you, Beru," Obi-Wan told the girl.

Anakin's attention tracked over to Obi-Wan, expression souring. There was a hard look in his eyes that Obi-Wan wished were less familiar.

"Yeah, about that," Anakin gestured to one of the pilots. "I don't think I want you here."

But it wasn't the female pilot who stepped forward. It was the other. His face twisted into something else momentarily, and Obi-Wan felt a sick flash of precognition. It echoed across to Anakin just as the pilot opened fire.

At Padme.


	4. Chapter 4

_Five Years Ago_

Jabba's palace burned.

The clay baked again in the flame, smoke clogging the halls. Bodies lay just visible under the black clouds – most of them of Jabba's court, but some were Anakin's allies. The smuggler who had set the charges, blowing the gates and letting the rebel slaves in, he had been one of the first to fall, lit up with a dozen bright red blaster bolts.

Anakin dispersed the smoke around him with the Force, arm held to his mouth as he peered through the chaos. Grunts from fighting, pained screams echoed against the walls of the palace. Anakin could feel Obi-Wan's presence down those corridors, in tune with the Force as he smoothly dispatched guard after guard. Shmi was more distant, but still distinct. Anakin had overheard Obi-Wan directing her to escort rescued prisoners out not long before. He'd been pleased to hear the order; as much as Anakin thrilled to the idea of standing by his mother's side in this fight, it was really more of a metaphorical thing. She was no trained fighter.

But Jabba wasn't anywhere near Shmi, nor near Obi-Wan. Hutts had a unique, distasteful presence in the Force; one imprinted on Anakin since he was a child in Gardulla's service. It was the first thing he'd ever felt in the Force, avarice paired with a cold kind of cruelty he didn't think he would ever forget.

He closed his eyes, jaw clenched as he searched for Jabba.

Whirling around, he set off at a run.

Coward that he was, Jabba was already aboard a sandbarge, ready to flee.

Anakin ran through the lower levels of the palace, descending into the dungeons where the smoke had already choked the life out of the Gamorrean guards. The doors were open, he saw that much as he ran past, the glinting durasteel doors just barely visible through the dense, caustic smoke. His eyes burned and his breath was running out, but it didn't matter.

Jabba was not getting away.

The dungeon level opened into another winding corridor and then a door. Anakin picked up a piece of debris with the Force, throwing it at the door controls. It hissed open and Anakin took a leap, smoke streaking behind him in the air. He landed with a grunt, heels hanging over the edge of the sandbarge.

A bright silver protocol droid startled at Anakin's landing.

"E chu ta!" it swore, vocodor trembling as Anakin sliced apart it lengthwise.

Anakin flipped his lightsaber around in his hand, turning it off. though he held it ready as he began to sidle through the ship. He would have no allies here. The smugglers on his side had already played their part; in here, it was Jabba who held the loyalty of the forces. Someone had tipped him off, given him time to get aboard the ship.

It couldn't be many, Anakin was sure of that. Only one traitor – maybe not even that. Maybe just someone smart enough to see the shift in the sands, the change in the air that bespoke ill tidings for Jabba. Anyone with real intel on the attack would have moved Jabba off planet well in advance.

Anakin smiled grimly. He liked his chances.

The barge was small. Rather quaint, for a Hutt. It was only large enough to accommodate guests on the upper and lower decks. Anakin had jumped aboard at one of the small portals into the storage compartment. He eyed boxes of luxury foodstuffs as he passed through silently, his back held cautiously to the wall. The only beings down here were droids, though they could be deadly enough. Above him, Anakin sensed nearly a dozen lifeforms, all awash in the dark tones of fear and hatred. Among them, two lifeforms stood out, swirling with different emotions altogether. The oily fear of Jabba and the more unstable, pulsing anger of another.

He cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing into slits.

Even now. Even here. Jabba had brought a slave with him.

The barge rocked as an explosion hit. Anakin crashed into the near wall, palms pressed against it as he waited for the ship to right itself. Smoke streamed past the porthole he'd entered through. Someone had fired upon them and they didn't care if they left any survivors.

He'd have to act fast, then.

He pushed away from the wall, long strides eating the distance down the corridor and up the short set of stairs, onto Jabba's entertainment deck.

The barge rocked again, this time as it returned fire. Ozone seared the air.

Jabba was on a platform in the back, shadowed as he cowered, stubby hands clutching a long chain linking him to a barely dressed Twi'Lek girl. Anakin stared at the Hutt. Jabba feared him, he realized.

A broad, vicious smile crossed Anakin's face.

"Hi chuba da naga, Jedi sleemo?" Jabba asked.

A protocol droid – this one a steely gray – walked out, stiff legged, from behind Jabba.

"The mighty Jabba..."

"I got it," Anakin assured the droid. He pointed his lightsaber at Jabba. "What do I want? Nothing. I don't deal with slavers."

Jabba stopped cowering, eying Anakin with a sneer.

"Hassa bargon wan Jabba."

"Not everyone," Anakin said.

Anakin thumbed his lightsaber on and blasters turned his way.

"Surrender," he said. "Or die."

Jabba laughed, stubby hand gesturing the guards forward.

The guards opened fired and Anakin swatted the bolts away angrily, eyes locked with the slave. He advanced steadily, almost unaware of his own movement. He felt nothing but the Force, the tilting, inexorable slide of the present toward the future. In a moment, the guard would lay dead at his feet. Jabba would die gasping.

Another explosion sounded and something mechanical screeched. The air stalled around them. Cooling system, Anakin thought distantly. They would overheat in minutes, even if their attacker didn't score another direct hit.

Blaster bolts ricocheted around the cabin. Anakin didn't bother to direct them, well beyond caring. The Twi'Lek was his only concern, and there were plenty of guards in between him and her. They absorbed the fire well.

A Nikto advanced on Anakin, getting under his guard quickly enough to punch Anakin in the face. Anakin repressed a grunt of pain, rolling with the blow. He swept out a leg, kicking the Nikto's feet out from under him. The man raised his blaster, aim steady, and Anakin slashed downward, cleaving through the blaster and man in one blow.

The remaining guards turned into a blur of deflected blaster bolts and sizzling flesh until, finally, Jabba was the only one left.

Anakin turned to him, stunned and pleased to see the Twi'Lek already had the situation in hand.

She had wound the chain binding her to Jabba around the Hutt's neck. She stood atop Jabba's back, pulling with all her strength. Tears streaked her face, cutting through the dust that turned her skin a muddled gray-green, her sharp teeth bared as she tried to choke the life out of Jabba. Jabba strained underneath her, gasping but alive.

Anakin reached out a hand, closing it into a fist as he pulled, adding his strength in the Force alongside the Twi'Lek's muscles. The chain dug in and Jabba's struggles ceased. The Twi'Lek dropped the chain with a gasp. Anakin cut through it and offered her a hand, which she took without hesitation.

"We need to get out of here," he said. Already the chamber had become stiflingly hot. Any longer and they would be cooked alive.

Later, Anakin shook the sand from his hair. The Twi'Lek – Foraa Ley – joined the other remaining refugees from the palace, safe in Jira's care. He'd been pleased to see that she survived after all. She had more grit than he'd accounted for, he thought. It had been wrong to underestimate her, Anakin thought. To underestimate any slave.

Obi-Wan came up behind Anakin, presence strong and welcome.

"You did well, Padawan," he said.

Anakin did not turn to his Master. He watched Jira instead. Owen had come to greet her, face streaked by soot and clothes singed by glancing blaster burns, but smiling and gesturing with more animation than Anakin had seen yet from the other boy. Jira embraced him. To Anakin, it looked all the world like the settlers and former slaves were finally united on Tatooine. There was a small group beyond Jira and Owen, mixed even further: smugglers and farmers and former slaves, all sprawled in the shadow of a tent, exhausted but exultant. Anakin frowned, standing on his toes and craning his neck as he tried to see past them.

"Where..." Anakin trailed off. Suddenly, he looked to his Master. "Where is my mother?"

* * *

_Now_

Obi-Wan acted immediately, saber drawn to deflect the shots. They disappeared into the sky with a succession of frighteningly loud crackles.

Padme stumbled back a pace. Her hand fumbled at her dress, trying to hitch it up so she could get to the holdout blaster strapped to her thigh. By the time she had it unholstered, Anakin had tackled the pilot – no, not pilot, assassin – to the ground. They tumbled through the dirt, Anakin nearly getting a pin before the pilot shifted somehow, slipping from his grasp. The pilot kicked him hard in the face and he fell backwards, spitting blood to the ground.

The pilot scrambled backwards, blaster held out unsteadily.

"Not paying me enough for this," she snarled.

Padme shot a shocked look to Obi-Wan. The assassin had been a man just a moment before, though she now doubted her own eyes and memory. A Changeling? she mouthed to Obi-Wan. He tilted his head to the side, agreeing, she supposed.

"Who?" Padme asked. She tried to move forward, but Obi-Wan blocked her, saber still held defensively. It hummed loudly in the dry air. "Who is paying you?"

The assassin smirked.

"You'd like to know."

She turned, running to one of the swoops, and taking off. Wind whipped harshly past the group and Anakin swore nastily. He swiped again at his mouth, smearing blood along his jaw. He glared at Obi-Wan.

"What did you bring with you?" he snapped.

"If I'm not mistaken, she was in your fleet," Obi-Wan said. "And she's getting away."

Anakin's eyes glittered with dark humor.

"Not on that hunk of junk. Haven't gotten around to fixing that one yet. Speeder's a lot faster," he said. He walked to it, casual if not for the taut line of his shoulders. He hopped into the speeder, annoyed but unsurprised to see Obi-Wan get in beside him.

"It is finished, I trust."

Anakin's jaw worked and he turned away from Obi-Wan; Padme shivered at the anger on his face. He was barely holding himself back from hitting Obi-Wan. Maybe this wasn't a good idea at all, Padme thought distantly. I don't even know what he's become, what passed between them.

But then he looked to Padme, and her fear passed. His blue eyes were clear and suddenly full of concern.

"Are you alright, Padme?" Anakin's voice was quiet, barely audible above the now distant roar of swoop engines.

"I'm fine," Padme said.

He nodded once and then gunned the engine, taking off after the assassin. Strands of hair fell from Padme's carefully constructed hairstyle in the backwash of his engines, but she didn't brush them aside. Her hand hung limply at her side, blaster dangling from her fingertips as she stared after the speeder.

This was not the start to negotiations she had planned.

"We'll take care of you, my lady," Beru said.

Beru held out a hand gently, hoping to lead Padme down into the homestead. The action brought Padme back to herself and she shook away the distress, the shock, she had felt. Owen awkwardly tried to take up a defensive position, though he had no weapon. Padme looked between the two of them, embarrassed by their concern as much as she was charmed by it.

"You've met Obi-Wan before, haven't you?" she asked, pinning Owen with a look.

A frown twisted his face.

"Briefly," he said.

"And you're Anakin's brother," she continued. It was interesting that Anakin would phrase it that way. His family had been destroyed on Tatooine, but he had forged a new one, in thorough defiance both of the slavers he fought and the Jedi Order he had left behind. "You know him. What happened between the two of them."

"It's complicated," he replied gruffly. He scratched at the underside of his jaw, shaking his head slowly. "And I don't even know all of it. Anakin doesn't like to talk."

That hardly sounded like the chatty little boy Padme had known.

"Do you think they can do it?" she pressed.

"Catch the assassin? Sure, I mean, they're Jedi."

He still thinks of Anakin as a Jedi, Padme thought. She turned the idea over in her head and then put it to the side. She would figure out what that meant later.

"But can they do it without killing each other?"

The nervous look Owen and Beru shared was all Padme needed. She reholstered her blaster and set out to the remaining swoop. She swung her leg over it, hands checking over the controls.

"Did Anakin already fix this one?"

The engine roared, drowning out their reply as Padme took off. She hoped he had, but if he hadn't, it wasn't like she was just going to sit around waiting for him and Obi-Wan to kill each other. She could deal with a slow bike as long as it got her there.

But she really did prefer to make it in time.

Without handmaidens, Padme's hairstyle didn't have nearly the structural integrity necessary to survive a swoop ride. It fell in giant tangles around her face, down her neck, and she shoved it out of the way, eyes narrowing as she tracked the two thin lines of dust that headed out into the desert. The assassin was leading them on a wild chase, from what she could make out, but all those twists and turns are already in the past. She'd be able to cut them off.

She kicked the swoop into high gear, veering off parallel to a no longer distant cloud of dust and exhaust. The two suns burned above the desert, and already Padme could feel sweat soaking her ruined hairstyle. Anakin was trying to push the assassin into the canyon, familiar territory for him and suicide for her.

Padme could hear her pulse pounding in her ears as she headed toward the canyon. It wasn't the one Anakin had raced in, all those years ago. That was nearly on the other side of the planet, near Mos Espa. And that was only a disadvantage to Padme, she knew. If she had been even the slightest bit familiar with the landscape around here, she would be willing to push it harder, join the chase. As it was, she was a bit concerned that she might slam into a wall if she entered the canyon.

The second dust cloud lit up from within, the glowing blade of a lightsaber suddenly visible.

And then it wasn't in the second cloud at all – it was in the first, and a bright explosion burst in the distance. The shockwave nearly knocked Padme off course and she hunkered back down, flying to the crash site as quickly as the swoop would take her.

She jumped off the bike, folds of her dress snagging and tearing on it as she did. It didn't really matter, at this point. Diplomacy and good first impressions were well out the window. She just needed for her outfit to stop getting in her way.

Padme drew her blaster, approaching cautiously. Obi-Wan had his lightsaber lit, as did Anakin, and he held the assassin pinned against the rocky ground with the Force. Behind him, Anakin stalked back and forth like a caged animal.

The assassin looked up at Padme, smiling at her past Obi-Wan.

"Guess you care after all," she said. "No one is trying to get me paid the way you are, lady."

She grabbed something from inside her tunic, lobbing it at Padme with a hoarse laugh. Anakin stepped quickly in front of Padme and sliced it apart before she even registered what it was. The two halves of the thermal detonator fell to the ground loudly.

Anakin's blade was a hairsbreadth from Padme's face. She looked up and down the blade, making out the fuzzy edges of ionization. It should be more threatening to be so close to such a deadly weapon, wielded by a half-trained, rogue apprentice, but Padme found that she was no more afraid than she had been when Obi-Wan killed the kouhuns on her ship.

"Who hired you?" Anakin demanded. "How did you get into my fleet?"

"Presented my resume," the assassin sneered.

Anakin kneeled down, lit blade suddenly sideways under the assassin's chin. The woman tried to pull away, straining visibly against Obi-Wan's hold in the Force. Padme glanced uncertainly at him, wondering if he would ease up. If he trusted Anakin enough not to.

"Tell us!"

The assassin gulped down air, sweat beading on her forehead as she tried to push away from the blade. Her face was beginning to slacken; she couldn't keep this form and fight Obi-Wan's hold, as futile as it was to attempt the latter. Her skin tinged green, eyes bulging.

"It was a bounty hunter," she grunted. "Named..."

A dart whistled through the air, hitting the assassin on the side of her neck. Her face reverted fully and Obi-Wan let go of her, letting her slump entirely to the ground.

"Washouni sleemo," she muttered into the sand.

Padme turned, looking up the cliff they'd crashed near. An armored man stood at the edge of the canyon, rifle held as if in a salute. There was a ship behind him that Padme thought she almost recognized. He tilted his head toward her.

Anakin swore steadily in Huttese.

"He was in the fleet as well," Obi-Wan said quietly. "He followed us down when we were landing."

Anakin shot him a glare.

"What are you saying?" Padme asked.

"That we were anticipated, but beyond that -" Obi-Wan cut himself off abruptly as Anakin took off at a sprint toward the cliff face. Anakin all but threw his lightsaber back onto his belt, unforgiving determination on his face as he started scaling the cliff. "Anakin! He has the high ground! Will you never –"

That sound of frustration is quite un-Jedi-like, Padme thought. Obi-Wan set off after Anakin, and it was impossible to say if it was to draw Anakin back from danger or simply to join him. Before either could get up the cliff, however, the engines of the armored man's ship flared to life. It rose into the air, leaving both men staring up at it in consternation.

Padme ignored them, kneeling next to the assassin. Her mouth lolled open, true face showing in her final, pained expression. Padme carefully closed the woman's eyes, hand trailing over her neck. She tilted her head to the side as she pulled out the dart, fingers holding it delicately. A blaster bolt would have done the job just as well. Why bother with poison?

Anakin and Obi-Wan did not return to her. Padme frowned in their direction. She could hear raised voices and Anakin was gesturing wildly. She dusted off her knees, picking sadly at her ruined dress, as she made her way slowly to them.

"What do you plan to do?" Anakin was shouting. "Take it from me?"

"If you cannot wield it with honor, perhaps I should!"

"No one takes a blade from a Jedi! No one!"

"Well, you're hardly a Jedi, are you? Or are you hiding a Padawan braid somewhere in that mop you're calling hair?"

Anakin looked caught off guard and shot Padme a quick, questioning look, running his hand through his hair. Padme suppressed a smile, shaking her head at him, and he turned a glare again on Obi-Wan.

"I built it. You can't take that away from me."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth again and Padme touched his shoulder lightly, reminding him of his purpose. He squeezed his eyes shut, sighing. The air seemed to still around him and when he reopened his eyes, they were a clear, solemn gray. He nodded his thanks to her.

"You did build it," Obi-Wan admitted. "And it seems you have built a great deal more, in our time apart."

Anakin smirked.

"You have no idea."

Padme suspected they soon would. She could clearly envision Anakin dragging them into his room at the homestead, showing off all the new droids he'd built.

"I read Master Luminara's report, so I believe I do," Obi-Wan said.

If that was meant to get a rise out of Anakin, it did not. He looked amused instead.

"That just means you think you know," he said. Anakin looked to Padme, to the dart still in her hand. He raised his eyebrows curiously and she carefully gave it over. He held it up, frowning at the distinct cuts in the fletchings, and then handed it over to Obi-Wan. "What do you think?"

Obi-Wan slipped it into a pouch on his belt.

"I think we have many people to question back in your fleet, and already an interesting report to transmit to the Council."

And for her part, Padme had an interesting brief to send to Dorme and Typho. Or perhaps not. They worried too much already. She might leave some of the details of the assassination attempts out, just to ease their minds.

Anakin pulled a face at the mention of the Council; Obi-Wan hardly looked happier to bring them up.

He suddenly frowned at Padme, looking her up and down in a way that made Padme shift uncomfortably.

"You wore that? Out here?"

"I was hardly expecting to chase an assassin half way across the planet," she returned. She crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

But Anakin wasn't criticizing the battle readiness of her choice.

"You'll burn!"

He was already pulling his shirt off.

"Anakin, put your shirt back on!"

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, striding over to where he had tossed his cloak. He offered it to Padme and she shrugged into it, reaching up to tuck the metal clasp of the dress under the coarse material. While that wasn't perfect, it was already a far sight better – and she suspected she'd appreciate it by the time they were back at the ship.

Anakin made a disappointed sound, half caught in his shirt before Obi-Wan tugged it back down. He looked all the world like a sheepish little boy and Padme couldn't help but smile at him. Sometimes he truly was adorable.

"Thank you, Ani. That was very thoughtful."

Anakin's grin was blinding in return. Obi-Wan grumbled something about wishing for death, but Padme barely heard it.

* * *

"It is not familiar to me, Jedi Kenobi," Jocasta Nu said. "But I shall put your scan through to the analysis droids."

Obi-Wan sat back in the co-pilot's chair – which was quickly becoming his own on the Arcardia – rubbing his forefinger thoughtfully across his mustache. The dart lay on the holo console, a flickering blue replica next to it. The Master of the Archives had not been able to identify where it was from, nor the kind of poison used. It appeared that it was simply too generic in terms of metal composition. It could have been manufactured anywhere. The design was more unique, but Jocasta had found no record of it. Obi-Wan feared it might be unique to the bounty hunter. These days, it seemed like all the lowlifes in the galaxy simply had too much free time on their hands. They'd taken to designing and forging their own weapons as calling cards.

Which meant, perhaps, that other lowlifes knew of this man. At least on Tatooine, there were plenty of those to be had. If the Jedi couldn't give him any information, it was possible that he may be able to dig up a worthwhile contact in Mos Eisley. Perhaps in a bar.

Jocasta cleared her throat and arched an eyebrow at him, visible if tiny in the holo, seeming for all the world that she was through with him.

"Prioritize that, if you will," Obi-Wan said.

The expression she gave him was decidedly frosty.

"I do not take assassination attempts on Senators lightly. An analysis will be transmitted shortly. Look for it."

The holo fuzzed out and Obi-Wan dropped his hand from his mouth. He'd been planning to ask for an expense budget as well – lowlife contacts did not come cheaply – but that would have to wait for another call. Obi-Wan pondered for a moment who would be most likely to actually give him a substantial credit line. Master Plo didn't seem to hate him.

He was part way through a carefully worded report of his mission so far, laced with mentions of how useful further resources would be, when Padme emerged back into the cockpit.

"Not your typical look," Obi-Wan said idly.

She was pink in the cheeks from the suns, but otherwise seemed no worse for wear. She had donned simple, homespun garb loaned out by Beru after they returned. The girl had seemed both horrified and embarrassed by the state of Padme's dress – saying something about how awful it was for a great lady to have her beautiful things ruined by Tatooine – and insisted on giving her something to make up for it.

Obi-Wan questioned the logic of that somewhat, as he did not see why it was better to outfit a great lady in decidedly less beautiful things, but Padme had been taken by the gesture. And Obi-Wan had to admit, it was more diplomatic to graciously accept any gift given from their hosts, no matter how ugly.

Padme did not sit down next to him, merely crossing her arms impatiently. He returned to his report, entering a few more lines before saving it. It was possible he wouldn't need lowlife contacts at all, if the analysis droids came through for him.

"No, but one better suited to Tatooine, I think," Padme said. "Are you ready?"

"As ever, my lady," Obi-Wan returned.

This time, sand in its treads be damned, Artoo refused to stay behind on the ship. Obi-Wan assumed the little droid would count some as a peace offering toward Anakin. A more welcome presence than Obi-Wan's own, and possibly a needed distraction.

He hadn't actually meant to imply that Anakin was disgracing his lightsaber, or that he would take it from the boy. But to see a blade wielded in anger like that – a blade he still remembered taking Anakin to Ilum to build – was to see so many of his worst fears about Anakin realized. The Council is wrong about him, Obi-Wan thought. Even if they were not wrong about Obi-Wan, they were wrong about Anakin.

None of their hosts greeted Padme and Obi-Wan outside the homestead this time, leaving them instead to let themselves in. Padme followed Obi-Wan down the stairs hesitantly, though he assured her that they were not being rude at all. At least, no more rude than Anakin intended for them to be. Artoo levered itself carefully down each step, making Obi-Wan cast a slight frown back at the droid. If it fell, it would almost certainly take Padme down with it.

Beru walked into the courtyard, smiling brightly at them both.

"Dinner's almost ready and I think Anakin is nearly finished talking to Tabs – that's the fleet patrol coordinator," Beru explained. She gestured toward the dining area before walking back to the kitchen, where Owen was clearly visible.

Padme and Obi-Wan exchanged a look.

"Eavesdropping is probably out of the question, isn't it?" Padme asked quietly. Unerringly, she looked toward Anakin's presence in the homestead. Obi-Wan would have questioned how that was possible, if not for the muffled shouting from that direction.

"It is not as if he is trying to be discreet," Obi-Wan said. But he shook his head ruefully, nonetheless. "However, I'm fairly sure he told Owen and Beru to run inference. If we don't find our way to the dining room, they will forcibly escort us."

"Not forcibly. Happily. Perhaps, insistently," Padme corrected lightly.

"My lady, I do know them better than you," Obi-Wan said. His tone was shorter than he would have liked, making apparent the unease he felt simply being back in this place.

Padme pulled herself up to her full height, looking very much the dignified Senator, despite her drab clothes. Her brown eyes were cool as she looked up at him.

"I am aware, Master Jedi."

She walked to the dining room, sitting down gracefully to wait, face averted from Obi-Wan's gaze.

The emphasis was no coincidence. Certainly not at this point.

He wondered how exactly he planned to negotiate diplomatically with his apprentice when he couldn't even stay civil with Padme for more than a few minutes at a time. Obi-Wan released his frustration into the Force, pushing his feelings away as quickly as he could. It was a clumsy technique, well beneath a Knight. To feel emotions and release them, rather than dwell on them and mire oneself, that was the intention. The Force was not a hasty solution to emotional burdens.

The knowledge of that weighed on Obi-Wan; it brought his emotions back in full force, swirling around him, drowned out only by the crashing waves of Anakin's feelings.

Obi-Wan had not been naïve enough to think Anakin's presence would be a comfortable one to be around again, but somehow he had forgotten just what it was like. It was like a meditation in itself, how to divide oneself apart. How to remember who he was and keep it just for himself when all he could see in the Force was Anakin.

He slowly walked to the table, pausing once to look around for Artoo. He'd lost track of the droid and wasn't quite sure how. It was usually such a fussy, noisy little thing.

"I hope you're hungry," Beru said.

She passed a large dish to Obi-Wan, stepping back to the kitchen to fetch another before appearing again at his side. She smiled up at him, nudging him just a bit until he actually stepped into the dining area. Owen loomed just over her shoulder. They hardly made a menacing pair, particularly not when laden with various platters of chilled noodles and savories, but they had coincidentally blocked the one exit Obi-Wan and Padme had.

Padme stood politely to greet their hosts, taking one of the dishes and smelling it with delight.

"It all looks wonderful," she said, placing it down on the table and sitting. She gave Beru a slightly conspiratorial look, "And we're famished, don't worry."

The perpetually awestruck expression Beru wore around Padme faded some and she grinned. She and Owen joined them at the table, already serving the food.

Obi-Wan sent a glance toward Anakin's presence.

"Shouldn't we wait for Anakin?" he asked.

"We don't stand on formality much here," Owen said. But he set his fork down on his plate, leaning half back in his seat to throw a hostile look Obi-Wan's way. "Anakin'll be along, don't you worry. He wouldn't leave us alone with you for long."

Obi-Wan took a moment to read what he could from Owen. For someone Force-blind, he was remarkably stoic. Hardened more by life than training, he didn't show much of what he felt, neither on his face nor in the Force.

"You are in no danger from me," Obi-Wan said slowly.

Owen rolled his eyes.

"I know. We," he tapped himself on his chest and nodded toward Beru, "don't rate enough to be in danger from you. Not more than incidentally, anyway. But Anakin wouldn't want us to have to put up with you all by ourselves – family looks after each other. I know you wouldn't know that."

"Ah. I see," Obi-Wan said.

He looked to Padme, hoping she would have a diplomatic segue to redirect this conversation, but she seemed mysteriously uninterested in helping him. She swirled noodles around her fork, taking a delicate bite. Her eyes were full of innocent interest as she watched the interplay.

"Owen, that's enough. They're our guests," Beru said. Obi-Wan thanked the Force for the girl's kind pragmatism.

"Beru..."

"What, you don't want to hear what happened? You know Anakin's never going to tell us, right?" she asked. She turned an avid look on Obi-Wan. "What happened out there? Who was that?"

Obi-Wan suppressed a smile. He wasn't inclined to play up his own heroics, but this was an excellent opportunity to get more information about Anakin's fleet.

"An agent, I fear, of the Sith. It must have been difficult for her to infiltrate Anakin's fleet – I worry about the dangerous, skilled enemies he has made."

Owen snorted.

"Not that difficult."

Beru looked mildly chagrined as she agreed with him, "We take all the help we can get. Anakin is usually there to check, through the Force somehow. But with Dooku..."

"You've had a lot of newcomers," Padme interjected.

"We need the numbers," Owen said.

"We do, but even with them, I don't know how Anakin expects to be ready –" Beru cut herself off suddenly. It was clearly a discussion they had had many times, but not in company that was not meant to hear it. Padme and Obi-Wan exchanged a look. They both knew better than to press the point, but it was a good lead.

And for Obi-Wan, it was heartening, at least somewhat. He didn't relish Dooku's influence on Anakin, but if Anakin thought he was merely getting numbers from Dooku, it was possible that the Sith had not begun teaching anything harmful to Obi-Wan's wayward apprentice. However, it also meant that Anakin did not realize he'd allowed a Sith into his fleet. Obi-Wan had hoped for that – dear Force, he had hoped. He hardly wanted to live in a galaxy where Anakin willingly allied himself with a Sith Lord.

But that also meant that Obi-Wan would need to convince Anakin that Dooku was a Sith. He suspected the boy would be even less receptive to the idea than the Council had been.

"You think the assassin was hired by a Sith?" Padme asked. "She said it was a bounty hunter."

"A proxy. My lady, all of this has been too elaborately plotted to be the handiwork of another. The attempt on Coruscant, the creatures of the ship, and the Changeling. It is all linked. I can feel it."

"My enemies tend to be overly convoluted in their methods. They are politicians, after all. Are you sure..." she trailed off, looking to Owen and Beru.

She didn't want to say in front of them that she thought he was jumping at shadows. It was one thing to talk of the Sith, to connect them to Anakin. He was a Jedi, after all. To Padme, it would make sense that the Jedi and the Sith were linked together. But to conclude they were behind the attacks on Padme herself, to her that seemed no less than blaming them for every ill in the galaxy.

A loud whistle came from just outside the dining room, distracting the group.

"He's good. No, he's up with the fleet. He's working on something for me," Anakin said.

Artoo let out a series of excited beeps.

"Sure," Anakin said with a laugh. "You can help too."

He walked over to the table, conversing happily with the droid as he did. Obi-Wan didn't catch even a fraction of what Artoo said – it was barely recognizable as language, as far as he was concerned – but Anakin replied quickly and easily. He flung himself into a nearby chair, serving himself food as he chattered.

And then he looked up, freezing as he saw Padme.

"You look..." he stumbled on his words, "like you did. Back then."

Padme self consciously touched her hair, looking down at the homespun outfit she wore.

"Older, I suppose," she said. Less naïve, Obi-Wan heard in the Force; Anakin probably did as well, if he was listening.

"But beautiful," he breathed out. He seemed to realize what he had said and looked horrified. "Not that you weren't... I mean..."

If Obi-Wan could have chosen something to have in common with Owen Lars, it would not have been embarrassment in the face of Anakin Skywalker's blindingly obvious crush on Padme Amidala. However, the Force rarely let beings choose these things.

Padme took Anakin's words in stride, propping her chin on her hand as she leaned forward, eyes bright as she looked up at him.

"You look good as too," she said. "You wear revolution well."

Anakin puffed up visibly at the compliment. Obi-Wan gave Padme a shrewd look. This was precisely what he had been hoping for, that her political instincts would find the best way to use Anakin's feelings to their advantage. And yet he felt wary of the situation. He certainly hadn't expected those feelings to be reciprocated.

"Are you going to talk shop?" Owen asked suspiciously.

"I rather suspect we are," Obi-Wan replied.

Both Beru and Owen looked disheartened by the prospect – Beru particularly. Obi-Wan realized he hadn't actually told her the story of how they had taken down the assassin. They were going to get more than their share of politics without even an enjoyable chase story to ameliorate the wound. He actually felt rather bad about that. He wouldn't like to be subjected to the same in their place.

"So," Padme started teasingly "Do you surrender?"

Anakin sat back, shoulders against his chair in a stiff line. He cocked his head at her, eyes dark.

"No."

"I expected no less," Obi-Wan said.

"I hope you don't actually – " Owen started. Anakin held up a hand, waving the boy down when he started to stand.

"It was a joke," Anakin said. His eyes had not left Padme's face. "But the answer isn't. I don't surrender to anyone."

"You may recall that I do not either. I have a mission, Anakin. Peace with the Free Worlds. I will not leave until I am assured of that."

"We're not at war," Owen said. He bristled at the suggestion. "Your mission is pointless."

Anakin threw a casual glance at him and Owen pressed his lips together, nodding incrementally. Very interesting. Obi-Wan would have expected those words from Anakin, that forthright dismissal that the mission was even necessary. He'd said in his holomessage that he had no quarrel with the Republic or the Jedi. It seemed more was going on, which was not surprising. That Anakin was being calculating and careful in how he handled it was.

"Peace is a nice idea. What'll you give me for it?"

"If you are looking for numbers, I doubt we shall be able to give them to you," Obi-Wan said.

"You did before," Anakin snapped back.

Padme gave Obi-Wan a quelling look, hand light on his arm. Anakin's attention followed her movement. His Force presence stirred petulantly and Obi-Wan had to restrain the urge to roll his eyes.

"I am offering full membership in the Republic. Nothing less," Padme said.

Surprise rippled around the table and Owen gave a low whistle. Beru frowned delicately, looking between Obi-Wan and Padme.

"Does that – What does that mean?" she asked.

Her eyes were wide and it was expression Obi-Wan knew well from many missions. An unwillingness to hope. She seemed far less suspicious than Owen, certainly less so than Anakin, but she still bore the marks of Tatooine. Settlers of this world had never been given anything, never taken anything without paying a great price for it.

"It means that you continue with your elections," Padme said. "The Free Worlds would be considered sovereign, though a member of the Republic, and would have the right to their own constitution and governance, under whichever system you deem suitable. You are well aware that the Republic has admitted many different members with unique governments.

"A democracy is not necessary, though welcome," she said, directing a shrewd look at Anakin. Obi-Wan did not appreciate the sentiment. Anakin was not going to be emperor of the Outer Rim, member of the Republic or not. Not if he had anything to say about it.

"Politics aren't my concern," Anakin said. He leaned back in his seat, tapping his plate idly. He had a deliberately bored look on his face, for all that he still looked entirely enamored with Padme any time he looked her way.

Beru raised her eyebrows at him.

"Then what are we doing right now?"

"Having dinner," he returned easily. His eyes twinkled with fondness as he looked at her, "You want to govern, you can run for Tatooine."

Beru ducked her head, but Owen swung an arm around her, half hugging her.

"You know he's right," he said into her hair, kissing her before releasing her. He directed a brusque and challenging look to Obi-Wan, daring him to comment on the quick show of affection. Obi-Wan really had no interest in any of that, though he did find the general idea of anyone other than Anakin leading Tatooine appealing.

"Maybe in a few years," Beru mumbled.

"Alright, so full membership in the Republic," Anakin said. "What's the benefit?"

Obi-Wan contained a snort of amusement.

"Development aid," Padme said promptly. "The Outer Rim territories are woefully underdeveloped, economically and technologically. There's no reason that moisture farms need to scrape by year to year when Coruscant itself recaptures atmospheric moisture on worldwide, nearly sustainable levels."

Owen and Beru both perked up at the obvious ploy, but Anakin remained skeptical.

"And for that, I just have to allow Jedi jurisdiction."

"Not necessarily," Padme replied.

Anakin should have been fully aware of that, though Obi-Wan was never quite sure how much he'd actually internalized from his lessons at the Temple. He'd only seemed interested in galactic politics when Chancellor Palpatine tutored him – more than one of Anakin's teachers had written him up for sleeping through class – but the Chancellor had taken him aside for lessons often enough that Obi-Wan had some hope that something had stuck with him.

"Not all systems allow a Jedi presence," Obi-Wan threw in. Anakin's expression was stony and recalcitrant as he turned his attention to his former Master. "And we do respect that."

"I remember. I remember how much the Jedi respected the Hutt presence on Tatooine, for instance."

"Then you cannot dispute my point."

"So you are offering me a Senate seat, money, technology, and the freedom to ban the Jedi Order from my systems," Anakin said, ticking Padme's points on his fingers. He didn't look convinced, but Obi-Wan could almost see the burgeoning light of hope in the Force. "What do you want from me in return?"

"Peace," Padme said.

"Peace," Anakin echoed. "That's all."

Padme shot a look Obi-Wan's way. This was the tricky part. Against Obi-Wan's advice, she had decided to be honest with Anakin. It was a political gamble as much as a personal one and while Obi-Wan suspected it would not pay off immediately, he did concede that lying to Anakin would hardly net a positive end result.

He just thought they should forestall telling the truth. Wait a day or two. Or until Anakin was back on Coruscant, inside the Jedi Temple.

"Anakin," Padme said kindly. "I mean peace everywhere. Not simply between the Free Worlds and the Republic, but on the Outer Rim."

There was a dark shudder in the Force. Anakin stared at Padme, hand clenched on the table.

"You can't mean that," he said.

"I do. Anakin, we're prepared to welcome the Free Worlds into the Republic, and to aid you in your cause. You've freed millions of slaves and saved as many lives, but they need more than that. They need stable governments that have the time and the money to invest in them. The Republic can offer that to you. Peace is the opportunity for growth that your people deserve.

"And that means you would have to cease your military activities. You wouldn't have to sign away your fleet, but –"

"No!" Anakin said harshly. He stood from the table, leaning over it to point a finger in Padme's face. She looked as shocked by his anger as Anakin himself did. "You aren't stopping us! How can you even ask that of me?"

He shook his head, flinching as he looked at her.

"Why would I abandon my mission?"

"Not abandon. Expand. You can't expect to hunt slavers forever – there is injustice everywhere in the galaxy, Anakin, I promise you that. But sometimes the solutions come when we stop chasing down danger and solve the problems we have at home."

"We don't have any problems," Anakin hissed.

"Other than numbers," Obi-Wan said. Padme shot him a nasty look, but he plowed on, "And assassins infiltrating your ranks."

Venomous anger swirled around Anakin, pulling at Obi-Wan. It was a deliberate battering, a tantrum meant to drag Obi-Wan down and make him feel exactly what Anakin felt. Obi-Wan breathed out evenly, pushing the feelings to the side. He was rusty at this, at being in the maelstrom that was Anakin.

He looked steadily at Anakin, waiting out his fit. After a long moment, he raised an eyebrow at him sardonically.

"I don't see how they aid your cause."

"They weren't a problem until you came here," Anakin said.

His Force presence had hardly calmed, but he was no longer using it as a weapon. Obi-Wan could feel the threadbare control he was holding himself together with; maybe that had not been a deliberate attack. It was hardly a better situation if it was not.

"Because you haven't left the system in weeks," Obi-Wan said. He watched Anakin carefully. "You conduct patrols of your territory, but for someone loathe to give up his war, you hardly seem to be waging one. What do you need the numbers for, Anakin?"

Anakin narrowed his eyes at Obi-Wan, jaw clenched tight.

"Ask Luminara," he said.


	5. Chapter 5

_Five Years Ago_

Fire crackled in the Tusken camp beneath the cliff. Anakin shifted on his feet, scanning the darkness. Next to him, Obi-Wan's presence was a steady, calm pulse. He wetted his lips, pushing aside the training bond as he let his eyes slip closed. He didn't need that distraction. He needed to find his mother.

"There," he said roughly, pointing without opening his eyes.

"Good," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin cringed away from the word, feeling sick. It wasn't good. Nothing about this was good. He could feel the pain Shmi was in, the cuts on his face, the welts on her wrists. He gripped his forearm, expecting to feel his hand slide against phantom blood.

"Padawan." The word was stern. Anakin opened his eyes. His face felt bloodless and he shivered in his cloak. Obi-Wan's face was barely visible in the moonlight, but Anakin thought there was worry there. "You are stretching yourself too thin. Come back."

Anakin nodded jerkily, pulling back in the Force. It hurt almost as much to leave her there as to feel his mother's pain. But it would be over in a moment. He would fix all of this.

He had followed his visions. He was meant to be here. But there was no way that his mother was meant to die, not here, not yet.

"We move silently, Padawan," Obi-Wan said. "We needn't fight to free your mother."

"But the guards..."

"Will not see us. We have faced worse."

Anakin didn't know that they had. They'd certainly fought more sophisticated enemies, both in intelligence and technology. They'd taken on criminal organizations that were well known to the Jedi, that knew the Jedi well in turn. The Sand People had none of their advantages.

They were simply the nightmare of Tatooine. Anakin didn't know that they needed to be anything more.

Obi-Wan waited, all but pushing his calm in the Force on Anakin. They would not move until he was satisfied that Anakin was prepared. He sighed heavily, trying to let the stillness of Obi-Wan's presence interweave with his, trying so hard to let go of his fear and his anger. It wasn't working.

After a long, measured pause, Anakin did as he always did. He locked the feelings away, deep within, hidden in a dark, seamless box of the Force that he knew Obi-Wan would never find. He hadn't so far.

Obi-Wan nodded.

"Good, my Padawan."

Dimly, Anakin felt sickened by the approval; he locked that away as well.

In tune with each other and the Force, they dropped from the cliff, shadows against the starlit sky. Dust puffed up around them as they landed – Obi-Wan held out a hand, stopping it, settling it back to the ground. Anakin would have admired his control if he were less terrified. Together, they skulked through the shadows of the firelight, circling around the camp to the hut Anakin could feel his mother in. The guards patrolled the other side of the camp while the remainder of the night watch threw bones to their massiffs, wheezing out alien laughs as the animals fought for the scraps.

Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber and cut quickly into the animal hide wall of the hut, pushing it inward with the Force. He ducked inside and, glancing around behind them, Anakin followed suit.

His mother was tied to a wooden rack, face cut and scalp clotted over in spots where it was obvious hair had been torn out in clumps. When they dragged her away from Jabba's palace, Anakin thought. When she fought back.

"Mom," he whispered.

Obi-Wan was at his side in an instantly, helping Anakin to unfasten the leather bonds strapping her to the rack. Gently, they eased her to the ground. Obi-Wan's hand pressed to her forehead and he frowned, sitting back on his heels as he tried to examine the extent of her wounds.

He shielded himself in the Force almost immediately. Anakin tore his eyes away from his mother just long enough to look to Obi-Wan in horror.

That wasn't possible. Obi-Wan was overreacting. He was just overprotective, he just didn't want Anakin to jump to conclusions, it couldn't possibly be that bad.

Shmi cracked her eyes open wearily.

"Ani?" she croaked out.

Anakin cradled her body closer, nodding shakily to her.

"I'm here, Mom. We're going to get you out of here. Back home."

He wasn't sure which home he meant at this point, the farm or Coruscant, but it hardly mattered. The Force had guided him here. All that was unfolding was destined and he would not let her be taken away from him, not a second time. Not by the Tuskens and not by the Force itself.

"I –" she was so weak that her voice gave out on her. Shmi's eyes reflected firelight, dim and unfocused on their own. She reached up to touch his face clumsily. "I love you, Ani. But you shouldn't …"

He shouldn't have come, the Force whispered. This was the cost.

Anakin shook his head to clear the thought. That wasn't what she was saying, it wasn't true, she would never say anything so awful to him. He stared helplessly down at her, clutching her more tightly to his body. He could feel blood seeping through the thin material of her shirt, hot on his hands, and he trembled. She was dying.

"Mom, you gotta stay with me! You gotta –" he choked on the words, watching her head loll backwards.

Her light in the Force extinguished.

Anakin felt entirely numb. His fingers were nerveless, but he still held his mother hard enough to bruise. He stared at the far wall of the hut, to the presence of the Tuskens beyond. He could feel them, sleeping, fucking, plotting their next murder – if it could even be called plotting. They were animals, they didn't think, they didn't plan. They just tore their victims apart, vicious as the massiffs they kept as pets.

Power swirled in the Force and Anakin reached for it. He set his mother down, lightsaber already in his hand as he strode toward the hide covered door.

Obi-Wan blocked his exit.

"Padawan," he said softly. His eyes were large with worry, presence forcefully calm as it reached for him. Anakin pushed it aside violently, watching with satisfaction as shock passed over Obi-Wan's face. "Padawan, this is not the way. You are grieving and you are not thinking clearly."

"They murdered her," Anakin said hoarsely.

"They did. But there is not always time for justice." Anakin felt a near hysterical laugh bubble up out of him. He knew what he wanted and it wasn't justice. Obi-Wan moved closer. "You fought for freedom today, Anakin. A just and worthy cause. There are people back at the camp who look up to you now. You cannot let them down."

Anakin shook his head. Just trying to breathe. The Force was a blur of pain and hate and he could barely comprehend what Obi-Wan was saying.

"This isn't about them."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan's voice turned more stern. "I will stop you."

Anakin stumbled away from Obi-Wan, staring at him.

"You'll protect them?" he shouted in shock. "The monsters who killed my mother?"

"I am a Jedi, as are you. It is not our place –"

"You're the one who brought them into this! If you hadn't, she'd still be alive!"

Obi-Wan looked pale in the firelight. Anakin took dark satisfaction in the wisp of guilt he felt Obi-Wan release into the Force, a feeling that quickly turned to rage. Obi-Wan had no right to dodge his responsibility in this.

"You did this," he whispered.

The hut brightened. Anakin's lightsaber hummed in his hand.

"Anakin! Be reasonable! You are looking for anyone you can blame for this tragedy, but the fact of the matter is that there is nothing you can do to make it right. We must leave here now! The Tuskens will be upon us any moment."

Already Anakin could feel the camp pulling itself to wakefulness and readiness. But they didn't matter. They were just tools, just stupid animals helpless to disobey their own savage nature.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" Anakin shouted. "I ran because of her and this was the only way you knew you could drag me back, wasn't it? You needed to make sure I didn't have any more attachments!"

"Anakin, get a hold of yourself!"

A Tusken raider gave a wordless cry outside the hut, and then another. The Force whispered a warning just in time for Anakin to block the blaster bolt sizzling a hole through the hide door. There were dozens of fighters beyond.

Anakin let his anger wash over him, fill him up so it was all he could taste. And then the Tuskens attacked in earnest.

* * *

_Now_

Anakin had left them there, down on Tatooine. Hours later, instructions filtered down to Owen and Beru. They were transmitted to the Arcadia as well. They were the same instructions, in fact, that the escort pilots had given before. They had permission to dock in hangar 4 on the Emancipator.

Padme changed her clothes once more, this time into a dignified silver and blue dress that she'd worn to the Senate many times, and pressed Beru's loaners back into the girl's hands.

"Oh, I couldn't – they were a gift," Beru said. She flushed at the thought that Padme didn't want them, that they didn't compare to Padme's finery.

"They were the gift of an afternoon," Padme said gently. "And a fine one. But I know better than to take things that are not rightfully mine."

Leader of the Free Worlds or not, Padme didn't think Anakin had a of lot money to spare. If he did, she wasn't sure Beru or Owen would accept it and she couldn't take charity from people in need.

Beru relented, though she did stubbornly extract a promise from Padme and Obi-Wan both that they would return for another dinner. At least one, she said, to do it properly. Neither Owen nor Obi-Wan looked enamored of the idea, but they didn't have any say in it.

Obi-Wan and Padme headed back to their ship and it was only then, with a frown, that Padme noticed something off.

"Where's Artoo?" she asked.

Obi-Wan had mastered the art of looking exasperated, fond, and tired – at least when it came to Anakin. He covered a small smile, tilting his head back in the co-pilot's seat to give her an ironic look.

"I believe you know that as well as I do. Anakin did promise that the droid could 'help.'"

Padme was trying not to feel offended and officially failing.

She glared at Obi-Wan.

"He's my droid," she said with emphasis. "I can't believe he'd just abandon me!"

"What you mean is that you can't believe Anakin is being this stubborn and you honestly thought this mission would be easier," Obi-Wan corrected with kind condescension.

Padme stared at him, hand balling into a fist and then flattening against her armrest. She very much wanted to slap him.

"Am I supposed to believe you were actually joking back there, my lady?" he continued. "I saw how you looked at Anakin. You really did think he'd agreed to join the Republic, give up his fight, and then take you through a romantic flight over the Tatooine desert. Perhaps you would watch the suns set and have a picnic."

"Where are you getting this?"

"I'm not blind," Obi-Wan scoffed.

Padme stood angrily.

"This is preposterous! I'm a Senator and I know full well what the range of my duties is – as well as their difficulties. I'm not a naive schoolgirl and no, I didn't expect it to be that easy. We were testing the waters today, as well you know. As you agreed to. And if you don't like my flirtations with Anakin, perhaps you shouldn't plot so overtly to take advantage of them in your plans," Padme snapped. Obi-Wan raised his eyebrow and she narrowed her eyes at him. "Yes, I did notice that. Although I'm not sure what you intend to get out of that. If I recall correctly, Jedi are forbidden to love. I thought you wanted him back in your Order."

"I do and I do apologize as well. That was..." he pondered for a moment, eyes closing with a sigh. He pressed his thumb to his eyebrow and gave her a look as he finally said, "That was crass."

Padme felt a flicker of affection for him. Perhaps she spent too much time around politicians. Indeed, it was charming when a man would admit his mistakes so readily, though she found she didn't need Obi-Wan's misplaced sense of chivalry.

"It was smart."

She'd never have gone along with it if she didn't agree with his tactics. The Naboo knew about appearance, shaping it to provoke responses and set the stage. Anakin was a young man and for all that he was worldly in terms of war, Padme couldn't deny that she hoped he was innocent in other ways. The possibility of using their friendship to gain traction in negotiations was the entire reason she had the opportunity to even be here.

She just hadn't expected that Anakin would affect her in return. She was aware of how inappropriate that was.

Padme vowed silently not to let it get the better of her again.

"What do you think Anakin meant by bringing up Master Unduli?" she asked, sitting down once more.

Master Luminara and her Padawan had already arrived back on Coruscant before she and Obi-Wan left, Padme knew that much, but the Council had only released a highly redacted account of their time in captivity back to the Senate. Padme would not normally have even seen it, since she was not on the right sub-committees, but Chancellor Palpatine had been kind enough, or crafty enough, to send it along, in light of her mission.

"I cannot begin to guess," Obi-Wan said. "It was Padawan Offee who said that Anakin blamed me specifically for their mission out to Ansion and their subsequent capture, and yet now he is blaming them for whatever his current obsession is. Rarely do I know what goes on in that mind of his."

"Do you think he suspects you of whatever they were involved in?" Padme added hastily, "Or whatever he believes they were involved in?"

"No need to be so generous, my lady. The Jedi are nearly always involved in something and it is not always terribly honorable. From the message he sent back with Luminara, I think he believes that they are involved in my plots but not the reverse. If that makes sense to anyone other than Anakin. Otherwise, no. Our animosity is our own."

Padme waited for a further explanation that did not come.

"And now?" she asked.

Obi-Wan began priming the Arcadia's engines.

"We dock in hangar bay 4. I do hope that there are no assassins waiting for you there, my lady."

Padme rolled her eyes.

"Don't say that. We know how that worked out last time."

There were no assassins. There were actually no personnel of any sort. Anakin did not greet them, nor did Dooku. A faceless gonk droid puttered around the empty hangar as Obi-Wan and Padme looked around, disquieted by the silence. When the doors to the hall did snap open, it was only to admit a tiny mouse droid. Its little motivator whirred as it sped over to them, nudging Obi-Wan on the foot to get his attention before skittering away and out the door.

"This is what my Padawan calls hospitality," Obi-Wan said ruefully. "A droid. I wish I could say I was surprised."

After the way dinner had gone, Padme was willing to take even this, however. She had worried Anakin would call the negotiations off entirely and chase them out of the system, irrational as that thought was. But recalling the anger in the way he looked at Obi-Wan made Padme shiver with a dark, unknowable fear. There was a deep rift between them, though both were trying to hide it.

They followed the mouse droid down drab, industrial halls and did not see another living being once. There were many droids, however, looking up at their passing and even offering odd, undroidlike greetings.

"What do you make of it?" Padme asked quietly as a repurposed probe droid gave a jerky, over-enthusiastic wave with two of its eight arms.

"Anakin plays to his strengths," Obi-Wan returned. He relented, finally waving back to the droid, and its eyelights flashed joyfully. "He can always build more droids – and always build them to be trustworthy."

"You think he's more worried about security than he lets on?"

Obi-Wan gave a quick nod.

"It's to be expected with his history. That the assassins infiltrated his fleet surely has him rattled. The reports said he did indeed have many sentients in his armada, but I sense only a handful on this ship. It is possible that he has sent them away until he can find the security breach – although I hope I am not simply giving him too much credit."

"Me too," Padme murmured as they arrived at their apparent destination.

A blank, slate gray door hissed open to reveal a rather plush state room that connected to two small, but well appointed sets of quarters. Padme recalled that the Mandalorian nobility had frequently led their fleets directly during their expansion era. While the furnishings were not up to Naboo standards, they were nonetheless quite comfortable. The wall had even been painted a light blue and decorated with a collection of off-world art, ranging from familiar Alderaanian duplicates to pieces that Padme could not begin to place.

Padme looked to Obi-Wan after she finished exploring what was to be her room.

"How many sets of quarters like this do Mandalorian ships typically have?"

"One," he returned simply.

She nodded. She'd suspected as much.

"So I expect Anakin sleeps in the engine room," Obi-Wan said.

Padme lifted her eyebrows at him. She was surprised he hadn't come to the same conclusion she had – he seemed to be far more preoccupied by the Sith than she was.

"Ah, but where does Dooku sleep?"

A half smile twitched under Obi-Wan's beard. He looked around again, this time seeming as positive and hopeful as Padme herself felt. They hadn't gotten off to a completely disastrous beginning, she thought. Anakin had worked alongside Obi-Wan, they'd fought off the assassin together. That rift was not impossible to bridge and it was Anakin himself who was granting them the opportunity.

Padme woke the next day with that optimism still bright in her heart, but it faded as the day passed. She could hear the clatter of droids in the hall and watch formations of fighters as they patrolled the system, but there was no contact from Anakin.

Obi-Wan relayed the information gleaned from the Jedi Temple about her would be assassin – nothing at all, though he at least seemed to believe he'd come by that honestly. He attempted another contact, but was refused on the other end. Apparently his contact was just shady enough that an unknown vessel's signal was blocked on sight. Obi-Wan took that news admirably well, and he spent the rest of the afternoon talking with various Jedi to see if they would vouch for him to his contact: a rather circuitous and futile process, as one Master Vos pointed out, since he would have to vouch for them to his contact first. Vos seemed willing to try meeting Dex in person, but that would take more time than a simple holocom call. Obi-Wan sent over a few code phrases to help that along and then petitioned for a better credit line. Just in case he needed to work over Tatooine contacts.

With a grin, Vos shook his head and cut the call short.

Padme relayed her location and safety status back to Dorme and Typho, then used them to catch up on Senate gossip. It was sadly true that a great deal could change in a day and a half, particularly when one's opponents knew one to be out of system. Already it seemed that Lott Dodd and Gunray had begun to curry favor with Palpatine, taking him out to three meals at increasingly expensive and exquisite restaurants. To what end, Padme didn't know. Palpatine wouldn't risk his reputation or her negotiations for anything so simple as merely bringing the Military Creation Act to the floor before Padme's return, but the Trade Federation also wasn't dim enough to suggest that. They were up to something far more nefarious and she warned Dorme to keep an eye out for what it was.

She counted the same fighters in their fifth orbit around Tatooine before she admitted to herself that she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. She didn't like relying entirely on another's hospitality – and at this point, she wasn't even sure it qualified as that. Anakin had issued no invitations. Nothing at all. She wasn't even sure she could go back to hangar 4 without being shot at by a droid.

If Obi-Wan was as restless, he hid it well. He meditated in the state room while Padme paced back and forth, hand clenched at her side.

His eyes opened at the sound of the door, and he looked at her mildly.

"Are you sure that is wise?"

Padme stiffened. She didn't quite care if it was wise at this point, assassins and Sith Lords be damned. If Anakin styled himself any kind of leader, he would treat his visitors better than this.

"I'm not content to just wait, Obi-Wan."

He sighed behind her as she swept out of the room.

Padme stopped the first droid she saw in the hallway, one barely outside the door. She wasn't quite sure what it had been originally – or if it was even close to its original design – but it was happily scrubbing the walls with two spindly arms, treads leaving greasemarks on the floor as it worked slowly down the hall.

It buzzed something Padme assumed was a greeting to her and she nodded her head graciously.

"Can you direct me to find Anakin?" she asked.

Its cylindrical head spun around twice before stopping, fixed in the direction Padme hoped she was supposed to go. Three more droid encounters of varying comprehensibility, and Padme finally found Anakin. Not, as she expected, on the bridge, nor in the engine room.

He was in a databank sub-partition. The ship's brain.

And Artoo was with him. His dome swiveled as Padme entered and he beeped guiltily.

Padme crossed her arms, tapping her foot until he trundled over to her side. When he finally did, looking back to Anakin as if asking permission, Padme patted him on his dome.

"I'll deal with you later," she said, leaning down.

Anakin hadn't even glanced up from whatever he was doing. A shining protocol droid that Padme recognized with surprise as Threepio had his eyes blanked, a tangle of wire leading from his chest into the wall. Anakin knelt in the wires, tool in between his teeth and both arms deep into the open panel in the computer bank.

Padme had no idea whatsoever what he was doing, but she couldn't help feeling offended. He'd been ignoring his guests to tinker with his ship.

"You abducted my droid," she said.

"He agreed to come with me," Anakin countered. His voice echoed faintly as he stuck his head into the panel. "He's been very helpful."

Padme watched him work for a long moment, considering.

"I demand a concession."

Anakin jerked, banging his head as he tried to get out of the panel. He rubbed at the back of his head as he stood, glaring down at her. Padme felt a frisson of tension as he stepped closer to her. Stalwartly, she ignored it.

"For?"

"A member of my delegation has rendered aid to you without any recompense. I expect you to correct that."

He inclined his head thoughtfully. Padme would expect laughter from anyone else – a droid didn't exactly qualify for diplomatic privileges. But this was Anakin she was talking to and she knew him, knew he wasn't that kind of hypocrite.

"Good point," he said. There was a slight smile, crinkling his eyes. Padme's stomach flipped.

She glared at him to compensate.

"I demand full access to your ship and crew in return for Artoo's service."

Anakin twirled the tool around in his hand, long fingers manipulating it easily.

"Are you sure? That seems like a waste. You already had that, you know."

"I didn't," Padme said stiffly. "But thank you."

"Don't you want to know what I'm doing?"

Padme stared up into his clear blue eyes, listening to her heartbeat. He wasn't just tinkering, not if he was offering this as a concession. She darted a look to the wall panel, following the trail of wires to Threepio and then back again. Anakin hadn't planned on having an astromech to help him, though he took advantage of one when offered. He wasn't working within the navicomputer, then. It was more generalized work on the ship's computer, but she still couldn't figure it out, what could be so important.

"Yes. Tell me," she said finally. Her tone sounded stern in her ears, but it did nothing to dim the excitement on Anakin's face.

He grinned at her, backing off to fling out his arms, as if showcasing everything in the room.

"I'm building a droid fleet," he said.

Padme felt her breath leave her, horror settling on her shoulders. He was turning this into a control ship?

Anakin took in her reaction, a slight pout on his face when he realized it was nothing near positive.

"Then why do you need 'numbers'?" she asked coldly.

"I told you, ask Luminara," he said. "And I do still need numbers. I need pilots and soldiers for ground combat. I think you're misunderstanding me. I'm not building droids, Padme. I'm making my fleet into a droid."

Padme blinked rapidly, taking that in. She looked again to Threepio. His eyes were not as blank as she thought originally. In fact, there was faint, fast flicker of light behind them. Almost as if he was processing something rapidly, or as if he was dreaming.

"Ships already have computers," Anakin was explaining. "But none of them are truly intelligent. They're not alive. They don't think for themselves in a meaningful way."

"But what difference will that make?"

All the difference in the galaxy, Padme knew, somehow. She just didn't know why.

Anakin took the lightsaber from his belt and extended his arm, igniting its perfect, blue beam. It stretched nearly to the wall, but didn't so much as graze it. He had known just exactly how much space he had in an instant, it was so much a part of him.

"Jedi know their lightsabers are extensions of themselves. Pilots – good pilots – are almost the same. Almost. A ship that knows, that feels, exactly how to fly and how to shoot? It would change warfare forever."

The expression on his face was a beautiful and terrible thing. She could believe him, believe every word had the ring of Force-given destiny, but she was left speechless in the face of it. The only thought that meandered across her mind was that perhaps she wouldn't need to install a leader at the head of Anakin's cause at all. Perhaps he'd built one for himself.

"That's..." she trailed off, shaking her head.

Anakin snapped his lightsaber off, stepping forward as Padme stepped backward, her back hitting up against the bulkhead. He all but loomed over her, but Padme didn't feel intimidated, for all that his presence stole her breath away.

"Is it?" he asked quietly. "Is it crazy?"

Anakin put his hand against the wall, boxing Padme in as he leaned in over her. She repressed a shiver as she searched for something to say to gain the advantage back against him, the one he'd taken from her so handily.

"You're making me uncomfortable," she told him. Her gaze was challenging, although it was a strain to look him in the eye.

A surprised, apologetic look flashed over his face. Anakin dropped his hand to his side awkwardly, backing off.

Padme reached out to snag his hand. Anakin's lips parted in a question as she slid his hand down her side, resting it on her hip.

"There," she said with satisfaction. "That's much more comfortable."

He looked at her for a long moment, uncertainty giving way to impulse as he bent to kiss her. His hand curled on her hip, fingertips brushing the small of her back. He was gentle – too gentle – and Padme made a sound of frustration against his mouth. Her hand convulsed on top of Anakin's, holding it in place as she pushed away from the wall. She stood on his tiptoes to kiss him breathlessly hard.

The ship lurched suddenly into hyperspace, breaking their kiss, and Padme stumbled forward into Anakin's arms. He looked down at her, hands light on her shoulders as he assured himself she was okay, before he turned a glare toward the door.

"Who the blazes authorized a jump?" he snarled.

Padme raised an eyebrow that he did not see, breath coming unevenly.

"Your ship, probably."

* * *

Kenobi hardly waited for the Senator to leave before jumping up from where he pretended to meditate and stalking out into the halls himself, Dooku noted with amusement. He sent a droid to mind the Jedi, sitting back in his chair to watch comfortably as the Jedi triggered one security measure after another. They were hardly deadly, despite Dooku's advice to Skywalker, merely nuisances. If Kenobi wanted to explore the ship, he would be fending off droids for quite some time.

Dooku kept one eye on that holo as he turned back to his conversation with Fett. The bounty hunter was saying some nonsense about the clone he'd taken as a son. Dooku held up a hand, forestalling further complaints.

"If you are so concerned, I advise you to collect him and leave the planet."

Fett looked offended at the suggestion.

"I don't run."

"But you do play delivery boy," Dooku said. "You will be off planet when Kenobi and Skywalker arrive and return to give the intended message to the Republic representatives."

"Will I be paid upon completion?" Fett asked. His tone was biting, face a hard mask of dislike and distrust. He hadn't at all enjoyed being told that his payment for the Amidala mission was not upfront and suspected this was just another delaying tactic.

"You will find yourself a rich man indeed when you return to Kamino," Dooku said through his teeth. He was not giving any ground to this scum. He narrowed his eyes at the hologram. "And one thankful to be valuable to us alive, rather than dead by a Jedi blade."

"They were not so impressive," Fett returned.

"From a distance. Even a rash, untrained boy such as Skywalker could be a threat up close, and Kenobi is a Sith killer. He is nothing to trifle with."

Fett gave him an unpleasant smile.

"Then what do you call what you're doing?"

He ended the transmission before Dooku could reply. He tapped his fingers against the holo console in annoyance. Sidious wished the man to live, so he lived, though to Dooku's mind, he was no more useful than any of the clones carrying his DNA. Surely one of the first generation could be sequestered away for safekeeping. The clones were so much more agreeable than the original donor.

Dooku turned his attention back to the holocam following Kenobi, pleasantly surprised to see that it had already arrived at the door to his own quarters. He sat up straighter and keyed the entry just as Kenobi bent to inspect the locking device.

"I have been expecting you," Dooku intoned. He swiveled his chair to face Kenobi who merely rolled his eyes.

"Yes, well, we did announce our trip and you did invite us, so I should hope you realized we would eventually arrive."

Dooku ignored the Jedi's tone. He hit a switch on the holoconsole behind him, reaching out with the Force to bring up an image of the Kaminoan dart Fett had been instructed to use. It was, in fact, data retransmitted back from the Jedi Temple. The archive description hung in blue aurebesh lettering next to the dart, as well Kenobi's own notes on its suspected provenance.

Kenobi's expression flattened. He reached into a pouch on his belt, taking out the dart. He compared it ostentatiously to the holo.

"Oh my, what a striking resemblance."

"Do you wish to get to the point, Kenobi?" Dooku asked in exasperation. "I had hoped we could engage in a more fruitful exchange of information. But I suppose you can posture more and pretend you did not come here for that express purpose."

"I came here because I wish you dead," Kenobi said.

Dooku's surprise was not affected.

"Really? What have I done to offend?"

Obi-Wan tossed the dart to Dooku. He caught it with the Force, floating it between them. It was, after all, poison, and Dooku didn't relish the prospect of touching it, even if Obi-Wan had. The man admitted to wanting him dead and although Dooku didn't recall Obi-Wan administering any kind of medicine to himself before leaving his chambers, he wasn't willing to risk it.

And, indeed, if Obi-Wan had done such a thing, Dooku had to applaud him the effort. It would have been a neatly ironic death, though a bit quick.

"You sent the bounty hunter down to Tatooine."

"I –" Dooku cut off his denial as he considered the matter. He inclined his head respectfully to Obi-Wan. "Yes, I did. Though I don't see how sending an agent to prevent the Senator's untimely demise warrants your antipathy."

"And yet the assassin claimed to have been hired by the very same bounty hunter that murdered her. Only the Sith weave such tangled webs of treachery and deceit."

"Only the Sith? The Jedi do not? What of your presence here, on the eve of the trap set by your own Order being sprung?" Dooku let his tone turn pitying,"Or have they left you and the dear Senator equally in the dark?"

Kenobi quickly stilled the anger he felt, releasing it into the Force, though it built again from the nearly extinguished embers. Dooku smirked at him. He knew that the Jedi Council's plots were a sore spot for the young Knight – any fool with HoloNet access knew that much – but Sidious had been correct in assessing the fatal flaw of pride in Kenobi.

"So then you admit it," Kenobi said quietly. His hand went to the lightsaber on his belt. "You are a Sith, in league with the very same Sith Lord who murdered Qui-Gon Jinn."

"The death of my Padawan is parcel to why I left the Order, yet it is but half the reason. How can you say I am in league with the Sith when it is the Senate itself being guided by Darth Sidious?"

"That's preposterous!"

Yet he wavered. Not in his intent to strike Dooku down, nor his belief that Dooku was a Sith, but in his belief in the Senate. For the moment, Dooku had his ear.

"You have a Jedi's natural wariness of politicians. Good. But you have put your faith in the wrong place, Kenobi. As you do not trust a politician, you also should not trust a Jedi."

Kenobi relaxed, expression mild despite the hard, stubborn push of his presence in the Force. He had stunning confidence, alongside restrained and refined power that pulsed in the light side with his every breath. Dooku couldn't help but admire it, covet it.

"I will take that under advisement," Kenobi said glibly. "And in the meantime, I shall continue to trust at least one Jedi."

Dooku smiled at him, inclining his head.

"Perhaps the only one worthy of trust."

"What are your intentions toward Anakin? To turn him against the Republic with lies of this Sith Lord?"

"They are hardly lies, my friend, and I need do nothing to turn him against the Republic. Would you like to know what the Jedi conspire to do to young Skywalker?" Dooku leaned back comfortably in his chair.

"As you have mentioned that they have laid a trap, and as Anakin is acting like himself, he is determined to fly willingly into it. I assume they intend to capture him, regardless of what I do." Obi-Wan looked entirely bored by that line of reasoning. "I do know them, Dooku of Serenno, and rather better than you, I should think. The more interesting matter is what you plan. Since you will not tell me outright, I shall surmise.

"You will protect Anakin from the Jedi trap, at no cost to yourself, but at great and personal cost to Anakin. Something that can fittingly be laid at the Jedi's feet. The Senator's life. That is why you commissioned your assassin and your bounty hunter to play these games, to create plausible deniability while bringing together two young people who would obviously and easily become smitten with each other. And when Amidala is snatched from Anakin, the full force of his anger will draw him to the Dark Side where you and your master eagerly await him."

Dooku almost wanted to applaud. He'd never heard Sidious's plan laid bare by an outsider, so neatly dismantled and with such disdain. Kenobi was assuming things that were not quite true – the Senator's life was hardly the only stake in this game – and not yet cognizant of the many, many other players Sidious would soon bring in, but he was very close. Impressively so.

"You have quite the imagination, Kenobi. That would be a plot befitting a Sith Lord. Have you considered a change of career path before?"

The look Kenobi gave him was pure scorn.

"I'm afraid I am up to nothing so elaborate." Dooku levitated the Kaminoan dart still hanging in the air closer to himself. He dropped it onto the arm of his chair and turned it over carefully with one finger. "My bounty hunter goes by the name of Jango Fett. I had been on his trail for some time, aware that he had a connection to a Sith Lord – a Darth Sidious, the very same who is currently pulled the strings of the Senate and the very same who engineered the Trade Federation blockade of Naboo that resulted in my former Padawan's death ten years ago. I had been on his trail for some time. Under some... duress, Fett came forward to me with an interesting tale. He was employed by this Darth Sidious, yes, but not for any bounty."

Obi-Wan rocked forward on his feet, sealing his mouth shut to prevent himself from asking what the job was, despite his obvious interest in the story. Dooku smiled to himself. He reached down, activating the comm to the bridge.

"Dooku here," he said.

"What's up?"

Dooku did not let his smile flicker, though his eyes hardened immeasurably. He would do something about that boy and the damnable lack of respect he had instilled in his command crew.

"The navicomputer has calculated the course we will be taking," Dooku told the pilot. "Prepare for hyperspace."

"Does Anakin know about this?" the pilot asked suspiciously.

"Of course he does," Dooku snapped. He sent a Force compulsion toward the bridge, feeling the pilot instantly become more at ease with the order. If his mind bent a little under the weight of it, well, they certainly had plenty of pilots in the fleet. Perhaps the next would be more amenable to suggestions.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. Will do."

Dooku finally picked the dart up, holding it up to the light.

"The notches on the side of the dart are the give away, my friend. It is a Kaminoan poison dart, designed as many of their weapons are, for pure efficiency."

"And what does that matter?" Kenobi asked impatiently. "What did Fett do for Sidious?"

Dooku laced his fingers together in his lap, raising an amused eyebrow at Kenobi.

"Fett did not do anything, but the Kaminoans did a great deal. Indeed, you could say that he is their work. Their template. For the Kaminoans are cloners."

Kenobi seemed stunned. He looked to the starlines out the viewport, as if he would see Kamino itself drift past.

"Cloners?"

"Excellent cloners. And they do not deal in small numbers, nor in small sums of money. So you see, my dear friend, I have plenty of proof that the Senate is already beholden to the Sith. You soon will see it for yourself, myriad men all with the same face, paid for by the Senate itself.

"And ordered in the name," Dooku said with relish, lips curling, "of the Jedi."


	6. Chapter 6

_Five Years Ago_

Anakin put one foot ahead of the other. The suns were already high in the sky, turning the desert into a glossy, white shimmer. Sweat ran down his face, mingling with dried blood. Little of it was his own. There'd been moments in the fight without his lightsaber, when the cut and burn of his blade just hadn't been satisfying enough. His hands were bruised, scraped, fractured. But the spray of blood had been worth it.

His mother's body was heavy in his arms and his strength in the Force beginning to falter. He'd wrapped her in his cloak some time ago, covering her battered face.

Maybe Obi-Wan had done that.

No, Anakin wasn't wearing his cloak. If he wasn't wearing his cloak, it had gone somewhere. He'd wrapped his mother in it, he reasoned, a funeral shroud. Obi-Wan would never care enough to do something like that.

Obi-Wan had tried to stop him.

He kept his eyes down. He didn't need to see to know where he was going – away, anywhere that was away.

The sound of a speeder slowly penetrated the haze of exhaustion surrounding Anakin. He stopped walking, but held his mother's body more tightly.

A shadow. The soft crunch of sand under boots. The tug of a Master on a Padawan in the Force, insistent, powerful, controlling.

"No," Anakin said.

"You will die out here," Obi-Wan said. Anakin couldn't feel anything from him at all. There was nothing in his voice, nothing in his Force presence but command. "Come, Padawan."

No, Anakin thought, but followed regardless. He held himself apart, locking all his senses to his Master, shielding every part of his mind. He settled in the back seat of the speeder, sick as he watched the desert pass behind the cloak wrapped specter of his mother's body. She was sitting there, he thought, half hysterical. She was sitting next to him in this speeder, going home.

Anakin had never been speeder or space sick in his life, but he found himself stumbling from the speeder as soon as they made it back to the homestead, falling to his knees to retch.

A crowd was quickly gathering around them. Anakin looked up long enough to see Jira step forward, hands pressed together in worry. Owen came up the steps from the homestead, stoic expression breaking at the sight of Shmi's body. He didn't have anything now, Anakin thought. The other boy almost had a family, briefly. And then it was all stolen away.

Obi-Wan held himself back, hand hovering over Anakin's shoulder, unsure if he should reach out. Anakin wiped roughly at his mouth.

"Can't do it, can you?" Anakin asked. He balled his fists, pressing them down on top of his knees. He was still angry and Obi-Wan was right here.

"Padawan, this is not the time."

"It is the time!" Anakin insisted. He felt unsteady on his feet, eyes gritty and head throbbing and aching, but he clambered to his feet to face his Master regardless. "You can't give me anything, can you?"

Obi-Wan stared at him in bewilderment. His emotions were coiled tightly around him, impenetrable, but for a brief moment, they burst forth, completely unhindered.

"I have given you everything!" he shouted back.

Except comfort. Even a human touch was beyond him.

Anakin shook his head slowly and Obi-Wan advanced on him. There was a look in Obi-Wan's eyes that Anakin almost couldn't place. He'd never seen it from his Master before and it was only when we felt it reflected in the Force, felt it rushing along their training bond, almost impossible to distinguish from his own emotions, that Anakin could finally recognize it. Despair.

Obi-Wan despaired of him. Of himself. What he was willing to do for Anakin.

There was blood on Obi-Wan's hands from lives they didn't need to take, dead only because Anakin hated them. They were murderers – savage, vicious animals that deserved nothing better. But, as Jedi, it would have been easy enough to slip away into the night. Anakin was perfectly aware that he had chosen that battle and even now, bleeding inside from sheer, raw misery, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

"I'm not the Jedi I should be," Anakin told Obi-Wan. His Master's face was pale, lips thin. He nodded once, jerkily, and Anakin almost laughed in response. It was so obvious. "I never will be."

"It certainly seems so," Obi-Wan said coldly.

"What will you do with me?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan passed a hand over his face, barely containing a tremble of exhaustion. He was silent for a long moment as he looked at Anakin.

Finally, he spoke, "I don't know."

Owen stepped forward, not quite between them, the crowd of former slaves and smugglers at his back. His jaw was clenched hard as he looked at the body in the speeder.

"What happened out there?" he asked.

"Sand People," Anakin replied shortly. He pushed at Obi-Wan in the Force, wishing for a reaction that did not come. "Guess they didn't honor the truce."

Owen nodded. The crowd looked unsurprised behind him. They were wary yet, unsure of what was unfolding between the Jedi before them and too smart to make sudden moves. Almost at once, Anakin felt a black lash of anger coil inside him. He wasn't the one they needed to be afraid of, he had done everything for them, and here they were, holding themselves back merely because of what he was.

Anakin turned away from Obi-Wan, striding deliberately before the crowd. A few cowered away and Anakin clenched his fist at his side. But far more held their ground, hard faces watching him carefully.

"They won't come back," he announced. There were tears in his eyes, and his teeth flashed in what could not rightfully be called a smile. "They did this – they took one of ours. My mother. And I paid them back in full for it. You will be safe. You have nothing to fear from the Tuskens!"

Or from me, he didn't say.

"We've heard that before!" someone shouted. It was a woman Anakin remembered from before, giving blaster tips before the battle. Only half her face moved as she spoke, the skin hanging slack. Nerve damage from poor reconstruction, Anakin realized. But both her dark eyes focused on Anakin, the respect he'd won today warring with a lifetime of skepticism of outlanders. "They just came again. Kill more of our own in revenge. What's different this time?"

There had been Tuskens who fled, he was sure. He'd only killed those in the fray, those who thought to defend the indefensible. There was a good chance that any survivors would seek revenge, someday, but it would be years. They'd have to grow up.

In the meantime, Anakin couldn't regret that dead, empty camp.

"What's different is there aren't enough of them to even try to fight us," Anakin said. Obi-Wan shivered in the Force; he seemed sick, dizzy. Anakin ignored him, meeting the eyes of the people in the crowd, as many as he could. "It will be years before they can even try. And we'll be ready."

"We?" the woman asked.

Anakin nodded slowly. He meant it.

Obi-Wan's hand fell on his shoulder, pulling him away from the crowd forcefully.

"Anakin, stop this."

Anakin pushed him off, swinging around, ready for a fight. His lightsaber stayed on his belt, but it shuddered, a touch of the Force all he would need to bring it into his hand. Obi-Wan stilled it in the Force, a hard grasp reminding Anakin of who was the subordinate in their relationship.

"This is not appropriate for a Jedi," Obi-Wan said. He glared at Anakin when he opened his mouth, cutting off his obvious reply. "And you are yet a Jedi, so you will face the same consequences as any other."

"For defending my mother?"

Obi-Wan let out a disbelieving laugh.

"For – for murder, Anakin!"

"They attacked us! We were defending ourselves."

Obi-Wan seized him again, this time by the forearms. Anakin looked down at the touch in shock. He wasn't sure Obi-Wan had ever touched him so much in all the years they'd been together. Obi-Wan himself seemed surprised, and Anakin could all but hear his thoughts. Nothing he said was getting through, nothing in the Force. All he had left was simply trying to shake sense into Anakin.

"You can lie to them," Obi-Wan said, his voice low, eyes searching Anakin's for any hint that he was getting through to him. "But do not lie to yourself or to me. We know what happened in that camp. What we both did."

"Let go of him," Owen said.

Obi-Wan didn't acknowledge him, but Anakin glanced to the side. He could feel the crowd around them. Their fear and restlessness was turning to anger – for his sake, he realized.

He could play on that, if he wanted to. Get them to do anything for him.

"I said – " Owen broke off as Obi-Wan abruptly released Anakin. He distanced himself, disappointment bleak on his face.

Words choked in Anakin's throat and all thoughts of using the crowd against Obi-Wan disappeared.

"Master..." he said helplessly. "This isn't how things were supposed to go."

"No, it is not. She knew it as well. You shouldn't have come here, Anakin."

Anakin felt like Obi-Wan had slapped him. He didn't want to remember his mother's last words. They couldn't be true, couldn't be what she meant. The Force had guided him here.

"How can you say that?" Owen asked. He stood directly between Anakin and Obi-Wan, arms crossed defensively. "We would be dead without Anakin."

Obi-Wan ignored his words.

"Anakin, we must leave. Before we do further damage."

"You're going to punish him, aren't you? Your damn, fool Jedi Council is going to punish Anakin, isn't it?" Owen asked.

"We shall see," Obi-Wan replied. He tucked his hands into his sleeves. He looked weary, shattered in the Force, and for the first time that day, Anakin felt a twist of guilt.

Obi-Wan would never forgive him.

"No," Anakin said. He shook his head, not quite apologetically, as he drew his lightsaber. Owen backed away warily. "We won't."

He felt the world sharpen around him as Obi-Wan too lit his lightsaber, a reflex borne only of the day's events, proof of how much had changed between them. Anakin could think of no clearer sign that he was right. He cut upward, with precision, slashing off his braid and snapping his lightsaber off in one move. Obi-Wan dropped his guard, lightsaber burning a dark line in the sand as he stared wordlessly at Anakin.

Anakin threw the braid into the dirt between them.

"I think you should go," he told his former Master.

* * *

_Now_

Barriss Offee had never before ventured to this level of the Coruscant underground. Her missions with Master Luminara were not usually of that sort – there were others more suited to dealing with organized crime, with better connections – and she herself had little inclination to venture into the depths. It wasn't uncommon, of course. Padawans were curious sorts, eager to learn even at risk to themselves, but Barriss had turned to study instead.

There were many interesting books in the Jedi Archives, some of which were dangerous in their own right. Of course, at her age and rank, Barriss did not yet have access to those. Sith texts were off limits to all but a few. They were a far distant, perhaps unattainable challenge. She was at peace with the idea, though she did hope someday to face such demons. For the moment, however, she was content to find excitement putting together ancient puzzles and deciphering fragmented texts, rather than courting trouble with spice addicts and gangsters.

Or racing, she thought. There had always been rumors of Anakin sneaking out to pit races and all varieties of dangerous, high speed activities when he was a Padawan. Though the Initiate gossip was not as good as the Padawan gossip – or, she dared to dream for a moment, what she imagined the Master gossip was – Anakin's reputation trickled down even to them.

Luminara did not lead her to a race track or betting hall, however. Neon Huttese painted the walls, sliding down in slow moving holos. Barriss watched the crowd they moved through with caution, staying close to her Master's side.

"Jedi."

It was a hiss, a susurration that rippled through the room, hostility dredged from just under the surface in the Force. Barriss watched blaster after blaster drawn, barrels glinting in the strobing light.

"It is nothing," Luminara said.

"I know, Master."

They did not concern her. The being upon whose hospitality they infringed, that was another matter.

"Well, hello," Ziro greeted them. His tongue flicked from his mouth and Barriss stopped herself from recoiling. Instead, she bowed to him with all intended respect. His high, strange laugh echoed around the chamber. "My Jedi friends, it is so good to see you again!"

"And you, Ziro," Luminara said. She had not bowed and now tucked her hands into her sleeves, eyes and presence cool as she studied the Hutt.

"Oh, is it, now? You care that much about little old me? You're just dropping by to chat and have tea?"

"I do not see any tea."

"Because there isn't any! You're here on business. Bad, Jedi business!"

He was hardly incorrect, but Luminara had always emphasized concession – or apparent concession – during hostile negotiations.

Barriss stepped forward, bowing again. She reached into her belt, pulling out a small sachet of medicinal tea.

"I could brew some, if you wish. This might put you more at ease."

Ziro laughed, wiping a hand across his brow.

"Oh, you are a good one, child. I humbly accept."

Barriss looked around until she found a protocol droid and conferred quickly with it to procure cups and a teapot. She watched her Master make herself comfortable, kneeling quietly on the paved floor, palms on her knees, expression quite serene as she watched Ziro slither back and forth on the floor in agitation. Barriss opened the sachet into the pot a droid delivered, swirling it once with a small measure of hot water and pouring it out to rinse the leaves before brewing properly. With an eye toward Ziro, she added a few more leaves to his cup. It was a very mild analgesic and hypnotic, but she could hope.

In meant little, of course, since he did not take a cup.

Luminara smiled as Barriss offered one to her. She warmed her hands with it, sipping contentedly.

"How is your business, Ziro?" she asked.

"I can't tell you that!" he snapped. He gestured wildly with his little arms. "You'll use it against me!"

"We are allies, for the moment. I shall not move against you or your business interests. That would be quite contrary to my own goals."

Ziro chortled loudly.

"Such lovely words from a Jedi."

Luminara nodded in acknowledgment, taking another sip of her tea. Barriss did not follow suit. She sat quietly next to her Master, cup on the ground, hand near her lightsaber. She knew it was inadvisable to provoke Ziro, but she could not shake the disquiet that enveloped her in the Force.

It was not this place. She only wished that it were. But she had felt this way so many times in the recent past, in the Jedi Council room when they received their mission. On Anakin's flagship, when they set things in motion. How could that unpleasant dissonance in the Force leave her as long as they continued down this path?

Barriss trusted her Master and she believed in the Council – but she should place more faith in the Force. It twisted at her inside, that feeling that she was not following its guidance.

After a long moment, Luminara set her cup down. The sound was distinct, fine porcelain on stone.

"Are you satisfied with the formalities, Ziro?"

"No," he huffed. "But you may proceed."

"Good. Delay your plans."

"What?" he shouted.

Luminara stood, picking up her robes to inspect them idly. The floor was not so dirty, however, and she soon let them fall once more. Her gaze was implacable as she turned it on Ziro.

"You face failure if you act too soon. Skywalker has met with delay."

Ziro sputtered and Luminara held up a calming hand. The Force was behind it, though useless against a Hutt.

"If you wish to take control of your clan, you will heed my words. If you wish die at the hands of your brethren, feel free to ignore them." She tilted her head to the side. "I thank you. For the tea."

She gestured to Barriss, who scrambled to her feet.

"I do not like this," she whispered to Luminara as they passed back the way they'd come. The beings in the central hall were still murmuring, still eying them wish suspicion. After came the halls, filled with drug addicts and deathstick smoke and other beings performing acts that Barriss wished did not echo in the Force so.

"Nor do I. We must put the mission ahead of our feelings, Padawan. It is vital that the Chosen One return to the Jedi."

"I do not see why we could not let Master Kenobi have his chance."

A smile broke across Luminara's face. They were well out of Ziro's headquarters, though not his territory, out on the dismal, noisy streets.

"What do you think this delay is for? We do hope that Obi-Wan can bring his erstwhile Padawan home. But our plan was already in motion before he set out on his mission. The Force, sadly, has yet to reveal which course is true, so we shall cleave to both."

It was a kind way of putting it. Hopeful.

"Then the Council does trust Master Kenobi?" she asked.

Luminara waved into the traffic, flagging down transportation. Though they did not relish having more witnesses of their sojourn to the depths, the Council had not been willing to lend a speeder for the mission. And quite fairly as it would most likely have been stolen, putting them back in the position of requiring a taxi regardless.

A sloppy looking Besalisk pulled over his dinged speeder for them, and the Jedi piled in.

"The Senate, if you will," Luminara said to the driver. She passed her credit chip over the reader, paying in advance, with a very generous tip to boot.

Barriss sighed. It seemed Luminara would give her no answer to her question. She was willing to take a taxi and pay well for the driver's silence, but not to speak of Jedi business in his presence. They spent the ride in silence, Barriss brooding as she leaned her arm on the door, chin against her hand.

The taxi wound upwards from the depths, slowly, as if it was an unfamiliar path for the driver. It likely was. He squinted into the sun, grumbling about the glare as they settled into the jammed lanes of traffic heading into Coruscant's central district.

In time, he did deliver them to the doorstep of the Senate, looking around warily as if worried that security would set upon him as soon as he stopped. They had barely exited before the driver was speeding away, gusts blowing Luminara's robe directly into Barriss's face.

"I do hope we aren't late," Barriss said quietly as they made their way into the Senate. She had never met with the Chancellor directly before. She wished to make a good impression on him.

Luminara was amused by the sentiment, casting Barriss a fond look.

"I have no doubt that we are, Padawan, but necessarily so. Our mission came directly from the Council and it does the Chancellor good to remember his place in these matters."

Which was to say, as an outsider. There had been uncommonly strong anger at the Temple after Obi-Wan Kenobi left the system, chilly words exchanged in the media over Palpatine's attempted usurpation of authority over Jedi Knights. Barriss could not say she disagreed. It was a dangerous path to walk down, to let politicians dictate to Jedi. Especially given the rumblings of war from the Senate.

Just the day before, Senator Lott Dodd again tried to bring the Military Creation Act to the floor, only to be stopped by the Chancellor himself when he thankfully demanded further debate, honoring his agreement with Senator Amidala to stall the vote. He wanted to know under whose command a Republican military would act. Though the Trade Federation had offered their own droids and droid factories, he said, they could hardly be trusted to be impartial in their command, given their own history.

The Senate had erupted in a fury at his comment, while he sat back to watch.

It had been Senator Organa who carefully suggested the alternative: the Jedi. They were the only body with the training and the purity of spirit, he claimed, to lead an army solely with the interests of the Republic at heart.

He'd called us warriors, Barriss thought with distaste. Such an awful and terribly small box to put all of the Jedi Order into. The Chancellor had a similar response, which she couldn't help but approve of. He questioned whether a religious order should be put into such a position.

Luminara led Barriss through the halls of the Senate to the Chancellor's office. The Senate guards stood uncomfortably outside the double doors, faces studiously indifferent to the plainly audible shouts coming from within the chamber. Barriss prodded questioningly at her Master through the Force and was met with an amused shrug as the doors swept open. Masters Yoda and Windu were aligned on one side of the office, solid and implacably calm, while a delegation of Neimoidians argued with passion in front of the Chancellor – who, for his part, looked rather put out by the proceedings.

"… an unfounded accusation!" the Neimoidian was saying. "And slanderous! If you continue to threaten me and the Trade Federation, I will see you in court, Jedi!"

"An overreaction, that is," Yoda replied.

"But a telling one," Master Windu said. His eyes were narrowed at the Neimoidian – likely Viceroy Gunray, Barriss concluded – and his face a mask hiding his true feelings. "When all I mentioned was the continued danger Senator Amidala appears to be in. I accused you of nothing, Viceroy."

"It was in your tone!"

Master Windu raised his eyebrows.

"I would enjoy seeing you present that evidence in court."

"Why else would you meet us here?" Gunray demanded. He jabbed a finger at Windu. "You want him to call us off and leave Senator Amidala alone!"

"Viceroy Gunray, be sensible," Luminara interjected. Barriss could sense that she was impatient to get into the real matter calling her to the Senate. She was not fond of the building, or the company, and would be well pleased to be finished with it. They had already spent too much time on unsavory beings for the day. "The Chancellor's concern for Senator Amidala is already known to the Jedi. We hardly need to appeal to him for help with you, and mean no accusation by meeting with you today. Surely you have let go your unfounded grudge against the Senator, seeing as she pursues peace in your own interests."

Gunray looked around shiftily.

"Yes. In our own interests. I would never wish harm on the Senator."

While that was every kind of lie Barriss was familiar with, there was an odd kind of truth brightening in the Force. Barriss tilted her head to the side, attempting to see what it was. Perhaps... perhaps he was not behind the attacks on the Senator.

"Excellent. I'm sure she will be pleased to hear that upon her return. I look forward to your reconciliation. Now, shall we get to today's business?" Luminara asked. She tucked her hands into her sleeves as she looked to the Chancellor.

He suppressed a smile.

"Indeed."

"Troubling, Obi-Wan's reports are," Yoda began. He looked between the assembled group. Barriss couldn't help but puff with pride that she was being included in this meeting. "Dangerous this mission is, and mysterious."

"So we assumed it would be, Master Jedi. But for cloners to be involved," Palpatine shook his head slowly, a rueful frown on his face. "It is quite shocking."

"Cloners?" Barriss blurted out. The Masters looked to her and she did her best not to shrink away. Instead, she squared her shoulders. She was here for a purpose, though she did not know it, and that meant she had a right to participate in this discussion. "What have cloners to do with Obi-Wan's mission? Or with Anakin Skywalker?"

"One of the assassins – or perhaps a protector – sent after Senator Amidala is associated with the cloners of Kamino," Master Windu explained. He threw a look to Chancellor Palpatine. "We ourselves were surprised to hear of this matter from the Chancellor."

Palpatine affected an innocent expression.

"I simply followed up on the lead Master Kenobi gave us. That Dex fellow really is quite knowledgeable."

"Yes, but it would have been simpler, would it not, to ask for the reports from the Jedi Council rather than intercepting them. Certainly more diplomatic," Windu said, a hard edge to his voice.

Palpatine appeared oblivious to it. Barriss assumed he could not truly be so. He seemed too canny and clever a politician to be unaware of what a violation the Jedi would consider that to be.

"Regardless," Palpatine said, waving a hand dismissively, "it complicates matters greatly, does it not?"

Barriss was still wondering how it was questionable whether this being was Senator Amidala's protector or an assassin, but it appeared they didn't care to address that matter.

"Agree on that, we do," Yoda said. "Murky the Force is. What this means, I do not know."

"I doubt we shall know, without an investigation."

Barriss looked between him and the Masters.

"Is that why we are here? But what of our own mission?" she asked.

"This investigation may prove vital to its success," Master Windu said.

Luminara rested a hand gently on Barriss's shoulder.

"Recall what we saw in Skywalker's fleet," she said softly.

Dozens of ships, but few to fly them. The trap on Nal Hutta would require more than that, she knew, which was why they expected Skywalker to fall directly into it. He was rash – Barriss recalled that he had seemed dangerously impulsive even during their few encounters when he was still at the Temple – and his battle record spoke of an insatiable need to prove himself. He would not resist the opportunity to break the back of the Hutt Empire, even if he didn't actually have the ground forces for it.

If he followed on Kenobi's lead – and there was every reason to think that Kenobi would freely give that information to his Padawan, once he had it – then he would soon be in possession of a cloning facility.

"It takes years to clone," she said. But she was thinking aloud, rather than protesting.

"I am sure that the cloners keep display models around," Windu told her. "At minimum."

"Have you informed Master Kenobi?" Barriss asked.

Even if she had not been present during the thoroughly disturbing encounter between Kenobi and the High Council days previously, she would have wondered. It was well known that in matters concerning Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi was no longer in the inner circle. His previous missions had ended disastrously. The holocaust on Zygerria had become a Jedi by-word for reckless failure. Kenobi had not even been assigned to pursue Skywalker there.

Of course, that alone proved how worthless it was to keep information from Kenobi. He had found Skywalker on Zygerria, though all the Council wished him to stay on Coruscant. How likely was it that he would discover the truth about Kamino and the assassin, even if the Council lied to him?

Windu smiled wryly, acknowledging the swirl of emotion around Barriss as she reasoned it out.

"Do you understand why we must, young Padawan?" he asked after a long moment.

She nodded hesitantly. It would be worse if they did not. In Skywalker's presence, it was expected that Kenobi would again struggle with his attachment to him. They hardly needed to make that struggle more difficult.

Though it seemed to Barriss that the planned ambush on Nal Hutta would do just that. She hoped Kenobi would be gone by then. She did not wish to face him in battle. It was appalling enough to think of fighting another Jedi, but she admitted that she found Kenobi himself rather fascinating.

Once upon a time, she daydreamed of Kenobi taking her as a Padawan. It had seemed all but a forgone conclusion, of course, that Luminara would teach her. After all, they were both Mirialan. It was the will of the Force that matters had gone that way – and every day, Barriss felt blessed to be taught by Luminara. There was something deeply comforting about sharing a Force bond with another of her own people.

But, like all other Padawans, she had imagined many possible Masters.

Some of those daydreams were farfetched. Master Yoda had shown no inclination toward taking another Padawan in decades, and Depa Billaba had never taken one at all. And setting her sights on the High Council was rather fanciful, to put it lightly.

She had also researched Obi-Wan Kenobi. There was something thrilling about the forbidden, though he was not truly that. He was still a Jedi, after all. But his actions were the cause of so much Temple gossip, of galactic scandal, that Barriss could not help but be interested.

Too bad there was little enough in his official files.

"You will tell him about the cloners? That is outrageous! I will not see Skywalker with an army," Gunray said forcefully, drawing attention back to himself. His face was pinched with anger. "What use are these peace negotiations if you let him have an army?"

"A fleet he has already," Yoda replied.

"And that is enough for war!"

Palpatine held up a hand, trying to forestall the recurrence of the argument Luminara and Barriss had walked in on.

"I respect your concerns, Viceroy. And I think you are well aware of the opportunity you missed when you chose not to participate in Senator Amidala's mission," Palpatine said. His eyes gleamed as he gestured to Yoda and Windu. "This time, the Council and I have already reached an accord. Obi-Wan Kenobi will be informed that he does not need attend this lead himself and that he is to keep Skywalker away from the cloning facility. We wish for you to accompany Master Luminara and her Padawan as they follow up on this Kamino matter."

Gunray's face went still. His presence in the Force turned smug, though his face did not show it.

"Send ships to Kamino?" he asked. "Yes – Yes, I believe I can do that."

Barriss felt chilled by his words, the hidden glee in the Force. She shared a look with Luminara.

"We will not fight your war for you," Luminara said. "If you intend to confront Skywalker, that is not a plan I am willing to endorse."

It would have been more reassuring, Barriss thought, if he reacted with anger. Instead, he offered the lip curl that passed for a Neimoidian smile. Luminara's announcement meant nothing to him.

"But he will not be on Kamino," Gunray said innocently.

"Of course, not. That would truly be tragic. I wouldn't want to see that poor boy anywhere near such a dreadful place," Palpatine said. "But, perhaps, if it does come to confrontation, the Trade Federation fleet may come in handy. Say, near Nal Hutta?"

He was not supposed to know about that. Yoda and Windu did not look surprised, however. Palpatine had already admitted to intercepting their transmissions, but as egregious as that was, those only concerned legitimate investigation. It seemed so much worse that he knew about Ziro and Nal Hutta.

It suddenly felt like he knew all the terrible secrets of the Jedi and when he should have thought less of them for it, he honestly seemed to approve. There was no malice in his eyes as he looked at the Jedi, but nonetheless, Barriss fought to repress a shiver.

She had a very bad feeling about this.

* * *

Kamino was a storm soaked planet beyond the edge of the galaxy, as it turned out. Obi-Wan had never ventured past the Rishi Maze – he knew of few Jedi who had. It was difficult to accept, but apparently at least one had. Master Sifo-Dyas.

"But Master Sifo-Dyas died some ten years ago," he said quietly to Padme. His eyes remained on their guides, Taun We and Lama Su, unsure how finely tuned their hearing was. Kaminoan vision seemed to be quite outside the average of humanoids, judging by their taste in decor, though Obi-Wan could not determine if that meant more acute or less.

Anakin, striding at the front of the group, deliberately placing distance between himself and Obi-Wan, slowed his pace to allow them to catch up. He had been absolutely incensed at the unauthorized hyperspace jump and forbidden Dooku from coming down to the planet with them. He'd fumed silently the entire jump, while Obi-Wan took the opportunity to compose a brief report to the Council, to be sent after reentry into realspace, and Padme had just enough time to change clothes. She'd seemed rather ruffled and out of sorts on the bridge, so it was good to see her re-center herself.

While Obi-Wan saw the opportunity inherent in a conflict between Anakin and Dooku, he knew better than to press the point quite yet, particularly not when it appeared that so many of Dooku's claims were being borne out.

"Ten years?" Padme asked. "Can that be a coincidence?"

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly.

"There is no such thing as coincidence, my lady."

"I am afraid," Taun We said in lilting tones, raising one hand to gesture at a flat, blindingly white door, "that Jango is not here. He may have answered some of your questions."

"Such as why he infiltrated my fleet, if he's supposed to be stationed here," Anakin said. He had his arms crossed, but despite the obstinate set to his jaw, his eyes watched everything. He wasn't sure what to make of anything and, for once, he wasn't willing to judge quite yet.

Taun We tilted her head, blinking languidly.

"He comes and goes freely. But it was quite abrupt."

"He left suddenly?" Anakin asked.

"He left and returned, only to leave again with his son, Boba."

Obi-Wan shared a look with Padme and Anakin. That sounded rather final.

Anakin glowered at Fett's door, looking very much like he'd enjoy ransacking the place for information. Obi-Wan sent what amounted to a headshake over to him in the Force. If Fett had indeed left for good, it was unlikely they would find anything. Anakin looked over to him, sighing once in acknowledgment.

Obi-Wan had to say, he rather disliked being led around by his nose, and by a Sith no less, but that appeared to be exactly what was going on. Dooku admitted to hiring Jango Fett as an agent, supposedly to protect Amidala, but it was clear enough to Obi-Wan that he intended Fett to be a lead for Anakin to follow up on – directly to Kamino, to a waiting army perfectly suited to his purposes.

While transmitting his own report, Obi-Wan had received a brief summary of the Jedi Council's own findings. They were deeply troubled by Dooku's accusations and appeared, at least, to take Obi-Wan's Sith concerns seriously. It was not merely that Kaminoan saberdarts were difficult to trace, apparently. Kamino itself had been erased from the Jedi Archives.

Only a Jedi could tamper with the databanks – a high ranking Jedi.

Obi-Wan suppressed a shiver as he considered the implications. It was not merely the violation of the sanctity of the Temple, the betrayal of vows. It was the sheer foresight, the incredible patience that this plan displayed. Ten years ago, the Sith made themselves known to the Jedi Order, but even that display was a facade, hiding their more insidious actions. Commissioning an army and slicing the Jedi Archives to cover it up. He found himself wishing that Dooku had come down to the planet with them – it would answer at least one of his questions.

Had Dooku commissioned the army in Sifo-Dyas's name, or had they both been traitors?

Or, he considered the even more horrifying possibility, was Dooku telling the truth about everything?

"Come," Taun We said. "I think you will be quite impressed by the clones' capabilities."

Anakin tensed, but again led the way, walking close to Taun We and Lama Su while Padme and Obi-Wan took up the rear.

Of course, there was the other matter in the Council's transmission that Obi-Wan found worrying. They had informed him that he was absolutely and under no circumstances to bring Anakin or any member of his fleet to Kamino. His mission remained the protection of Senator Amidala during the course of negotiations with the Free Worlds and his secondary purpose was to ensure that those negotiations continued. Not to derail them by investigating Kamino. Other Jedi had been assigned that task and they would keep him appraised of their findings.

Obi-Wan knew well what they were afraid of, but he did not relish the back up he would soon be receiving. More Jedi meeting with Anakin, falling into Dooku's plot, and all unaware as they appeared to think that Obi-Wan had anything at all to say about where Anakin or his fleet moved.

He actually hoped that they would manage to conclude their business here and get off world before the other Jedi arrived, though he doubted Dooku would let things play out so quickly.

Lama Su pressed his hand against a door and it whooshed open, leading the group out into a transparasteel tunnel set amid what looked like hundreds of wheels of cloning cylinders. Anakin stopped just over the threshold, horror and disgusting roiling around him in the Force. His hand clenched into a fist at his side.

Carefully, Obi-Wan made his way over to Anakin.

"I know what you are thinking," he said softly. He touched Anakin on the shoulder, eyes following his own hand, aware and cautious and deliberate in every attempt to reach out to his former apprentice. Anakin flinched nonetheless.

"It's the same. Brood pens. Nothing more."

"You cannot do it. You cannot burn this place to the ground."

Anakin twitched his head to the side, slanting a cynical look Obi-Wan way.

"I know that. It's too wet here."

If anyone in the galaxy could find a way to set Kamino ablaze, torrential rains and all, Obi-Wan would bet on Anakin.

"And there's no ground," Padme said. She had quietly come up behind them and now placed her hand on Anakin's elbow, guiding him forward. Anakin threw an ambivalent look down at her. He relished the closeness, but not at all the sentiment.

"Why are we even here?" Anakin muttered. "How did Dooku find this place?"

Obi-Wan had yet to find a good way to phrase it, but it appeared that Anakin wasn't truly asking. Taun We had turned around in concern to make her way back toward them toward them nd Anakin forced a too bright, almost vicious smile onto his face as he jogged over to her. Obi-Wan and Padme followed more sedately, but this time they did not hang back. Obi-Wan had too many questions to simply let the Kaminoans lead them along quietly .

"You said you were expecting us," Obi-Wan said as they walked slowly amid the cloning tubes. "Us specifically?"

There tubes were on huge wheels, set on spindles, rotating slowly through the blue-white light of the facility as the clones gestated. He cast a look up, trying to find the ceiling, the end of it, but there was nothing but the bright gleam of the cylinders. He did better at repressing his revulsion, but only on his face. It knotted the Force, pulling and dragging and demanding attention – begging for acknowledgment of how wrong this was. Only Anakin noticed. Through his own violent disgust, there was a faint thread of calm. Anakin had always found comfort in knowing Obi-Wan shared his feelings, rare as those occasions had been.

Lama Su turned, her long neck bending in several places.

"No, we were expecting Master Sifo-Dyas. He was so eager. We sent him many updates, but he never returned to inspect the clones."

"But we were expecting a Jedi to come soon," Taun We said. She offered a strange smile as she dipped her head to look at Obi-Wan. "We have met the timetable, Master Jedi. I think you will be impressed by the quality of the clones and how well we followed the schedule of production."

"I would very much like to see those timetables. I'm afraid many of Master Sifo-Dyas's personal files were lost."

Taun We blinked, but accepted his story easily. She dipped her head again.

"Of course, Master Jedi."

He supposed they cared little if he lied to them. They'd already been paid and paid well. If they had any files on money matters, he suspected they would be rather more protective of the information. Anything that might result in a dispute over the payment.

Lama Su seemed eager to show off the army. He waved them to the transparisteel windows on the walkway. Padme and Obi-Wan looked out over the training floor; Anakin took a long moment to gird himself before joining them.

A group of young men conducted combat drills on a checkerboard floor. They were unarmed and unarmored, outfitted in red jumpsuits and labeled with lettering.

Obi-Wan felt his mouth go dry as he watched them.

"You say you use accelerated aging?" he said faintly.

"Indeed. We can grow clones to full maturity in half the time it takes for unaltered humans. It is one of the many improvements we have made on their DNA. They are more fit, mentally and physically, than any other natural specimens you will find outside of this facility. They are also more docile, easy and ready to command."

"That sounds like a sales pitch," Anakin said. Obi-Wan shot a look to him. The disgust from before had, as expected, turned to a slow-burning anger, but none of it showed on his face. Instead, his shoulders were hunched, arms hugged to his side as he looked down at the practicing clones.

"I admire the high quality of work my technicians put in," Lama Su returned easily. "And encourage you to do the same. We are, of course, always available for further commissions."

"And we thank you for that," Padme put in. "We are very appreciative of your work."

"Indeed. The Jedi Council will be pleased to see how well things have come along. You say you met the production schedule. How many troops are ready for action?"

"The first battalions are ready. If you need more, we will need more time to grow them," Taun We said lightly.

Obi-Wan smiled at her, bowing slightly.

"I understand. Now, if you will excuse us, I shall report the good news back to the Council."

Disappointment rippled outward from Lama Su. He looked down the long path of the walkway, as if wishing to give the full tour. They probably did not get very many off world visitors – at least, Obi-Wan hoped not, if they were primarily in the business of selling enormous armies without asking any questions about what they would be used for. Perhaps it was for the best that they had been occupied by this one contract for the past ten years.

"You have been very gracious hosts. I thank you for how helpful you have been and for the excellent work you and your technicians have put in," Padme added. She looked out over the clones, to a group of younger ones, sitting in even rows as they learned in holo simulations, before she snapped her attention back to Lama Su and Taun We. Her smile was tight, but no hint of falsehood peeked through. She had admirable control.

Anakin didn't bother saying anything at all, turning on heel to walk quickly back the way they had come.

They caught up to him at the exit to the landing platform, pacing back and forth restlessly, hands running through his hair as he waited for them. At least he had waited.

His head snapped up, eyes blazing as Obi-Wan approached and he opened his mouth, hand flung out toward the mass of life pulsing in the Force that was the cloning facility.

"Ten years –"

Obi-Wan cut him off before he could even start, "In the ship, Anakin."

Anakin glared at him sullenly, but nodded. He was plotting already and smart enough to keep his peace, even if it was difficult.

The double doors opened and a cold, wet wind blew in. Anakin held his arm above him, deflecting the rain with skill, and gestured for Padme to join him under the Force umbrella as they walked back to the Arcadia. A smile lit her face – though Obi-Wan doubted she'd understood just how impressive it truly was. The Force was no ray shield. One could not simply cast it out in front and expect it to push everything away. Anakin was pinpointing every tiny droplet of rain and deflecting it individually, a demonstration of fine c oncentration and control.

There were similar exercises with sand, though Anakin had always loathed those.

Obi-Wan debated simply allowing himself to be soaked in the short trip across the landing platform but in the end, decided Anakin's showiness did have some benefits. Not needing to call Artoo up to mop the floor, for one. The little droid was decidedly recalcitrant about performing any janitorial duties.

Aboard the Arcadia, Padme settled into her customary seat while Anakin returned to pacing like a caged gundark.

"Ten years?" he shouted at Obi-Wan. "The Council knew about this ten years ago? They did this?"

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, taking off his cloak and folding it over the co-pilot's chair.

"Did you know about this? Of course, you did. You didn't even seem surprised. Fierfek! This is what Dooku was warning me about, isn't it? Not to trust what Luminara gave away about Nal Hutta – it was all a set up, all along. Getting me where you want me so that you can bring in clones – clones! – and annihilate my fleet right over the Hutt homeworld." Anakin paused in his rant long enough to give a hoarse laugh. "Figured it was fitting, didn't you, creating a whole army of slaves to take me down."

"Anakin. Stop. Think."

Anakin did stop, eyes bright as he glared at Obi-Wan. He stopped pacing, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. Padme watched them both in silent concern.

"Where were you ten years ago?" Obi-Wan asked after a long moment of staring down his former Padawan.

He exhaled unsteadily.

"Tatooine."

"Or?"

"Naboo. Or Coruscant."

"You were not, however, the leader of the Free Worlds, nor the leader of a slave revolt. I assume you were not planning an assault on Nal Hutta ten years ago, either, though I cannot say I often knew what you were thinking, even then," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin shook his head violently.

"So they didn't plan it. They're just taking advantage."

"You are jumping to conclusions," Obi-Wan said. He raised his eyebrows at Anakin. "I did not actually know of any of this. I suspect the Council did not either."

"You knew," Anakin hissed out, eyes narrowing. "I felt it."

Obi-Wan sighed.

"I did not know before Dooku told me," he clarified.

Anakin stared at him. He could sense it was true.

"Anakin, we are all disturbed by what's going on here," Padme said softly. Obi-Wan thanked the Force and all the stars of the galaxy for her presence. She was picking her words carefully, eyes earnest as she looked to Anakin. "The Kaminoans implicated a dead Jedi Master, not a living one. We have no way of verifying if anything they are saying is true. We need to think this through and investigate, not take rash actions we might regret."

Anakin nodded slowly.

"You're right."

"I have a duty to the Republic and to my own people to get to the bottom of this. I have opposed the Military Creation Act since day one – but it looks as if I may have been acting in vain. If this army was ordered for the Republic, by a Jedi, then there is a deep and dangerous conspiracy inside the Republic itself, undermining our very democracy. I will not let it be used against you, Anakin. I promise that."

"But we must consider," Obi-Wan said, eying Padme. He welcomed her help, but not the tack she had taken. "That this story about Master Sifo-Dyas may be nothing but a ploy. Ten years ago the Sith re-emerged and took Master Qui-Gon's life. If there is anyone who would act to poison the Jedi's name, to taint the Order itself with this heinous gift of an army, it is the Sith themselves."

"You think our enemies would just give us an army?" Anakin asked. "Why?"

Obi-Wan didn't know whether or not to be pleased by that phrasing.

"War. What else is an army for, Ani?" Padme replied.

Anakin shook his head at that, pulling a face.

"That's awfully convoluted."

Obi-Wan disagreed. The Sith were purveyors of deception and, in a way, there was an elegance to the plan. Give to the Jedi what they would not create for themselves, tempt them, soil them with it. Wear them down in spirit and body, whittle their numbers down with a war, and then kill them off for good. A little high minded and weak on details, but then again, Obi-Wan knew he certainly didn't have the full picture. Taun We had said there was a timetable, he recalled with a shudder. Perhaps it was far more detailed a plan than anyone would believe.

"But it is possible," Obi-Wan pressed.

Anakin leaned against one of the control consoles, arms crossed. Obi-Wan could feel the flow of his thoughts, a circular vortex that pulled against him. His own mind had followed the same path of frustrating, endless questions, quelled only by his own certainty on one matter: the Sith were out there. Anakin did not have the comfort of that belief.

"So how did Dooku know?" Anakin asked.

"The bounty hunter," Obi-Wan said with some difficulty. He wanted to lay out all of his accusations, explain his entire conversation with Dooku, though the other man had confirmed little about his allegiances. "He claims he knew of the bounty hunter's side job as the clone template."

"But why now? Why not earlier? If he really thinks the Jedi are going to use this army against me..." he trailed off, brow furrowed.

Obi-Wan cast a look to Padme, hoping she would again intervene. She widened her eyes at him, looking as if she wished for much the same. Eventually, she frowned at him, turning to Anakin.

"I don't think he brought you here to warn you about the clones," she said slowly. "I think he intends for you to use them."

"You said yourself you need numbers. I believe Dooku has provided them. In spades."

Anakin didn't look at all pleased by the idea. But he didn't dismiss it either. Obi-Wan reached out cautiously in the Force, holding back from his bond with Anakin even as he tried to get a read on Anakin's feelings toward Dooku. They certainly weren't as positive as he worried they might be.

"Well, we'll just have to free them. I'm not going to let anyone just swoop in and use them," Anakin said abruptly. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "I don't have time for this. The Hutt clan meeting isn't going to be more than a few days and if we stay here, we'll miss our window. Damn Dooku for doing this to me. He never liked the assault plan!"

The idea that Dooku was simply trying to distract Anakin from a foolhardy attack on Nal Hutta by giving him another planet of slaves to free was fancifully kind, in Obi-Wan's opinion.

A deep, shuddering crack of thunder rolled over the Arcadia, followed in succession by nearly a dozen more. But there was no lightning. Obi-Wan looked out the ship's viewport, craning his neck to look upward. Several ships had reentered realspace into Kamino's atmosphere, bursting through the clouds to disrupt the ever present rains.

Familiar ships.

"Didn't you say the Jedi were sending more investigators?" Padme said warily.

"They are. And I believe they are working with the Trade Federation," he said. Before she could think of taking that as a reassurance, he added grimly, "But Coruscant is too far away. It would take days, at least."

Even without knowing Kamino's precise location, he was sure of that. There was no way these ships had been sent by the Council.

"And there are no Jedi on those ships," Anakin added.

To highlight the point, the Trade Federation ships began dropping bombs on Tipoca City.


	7. Chapter 7

_One Year Ago_

Obi-Wan could find no serenity.

He was a very contained man. One who had always found comfort in the halls of the Jedi Temple. He had known Qui-Gon often felt ill at ease within the Temple – restless, useless. He needed the darkness of deep space, the wilderness of a barely charted planet, in order to truly feel calm. He had explained that it came from a sense of purpose within the Force. His meditation needed to be for more than simply himself, it needed to be within a context. A mission, a world, a life.

Obi-Wan did not share that sentiment. It was nearly alien to him. His own context was enough for a deep connection to the Force – one representative of the whole, in any place or time.

Except now.

The Temple was stifling him. The Room of a Thousand Fountains was no respite, nor was the view from the Tower of First Knowledge.

Any time he stopped moving, he felt the press of judgment upon him. So he did not stop moving.

Siri found him in one of the smaller dueling halls. Light poured in from the windows, shadows flickering across the room as traffic cut in front of the sun. Obi-Wan had stripped to the waist, lightsaber still on his belt as he practiced hand to hand combat. The remotes were of little use for this kind of practice and, frankly, quite unwanted. He had bound his knuckles with athletic tape and took all his aggression, all his disappointment, out on the punching bag in front of him.

He could feel her at his back, leaning against the wall. Her attention flicked over him, prodding questioningly. He blocked her firmly, but she appeared content to wait.

It was some time before he worked himself to exhaustion. He wiped sweat off his forehead, hands taking hold of the punching bag to still it. He stood, eyes closed, trying to center his breathing, propping himself up on the bag, held in place by a metal strut connecting it to the floor.

"This isn't like you," Siri said eventually when it became clear he was not going to move.

Obi-Wan smiled against the bag. He backed off just enough to press his hand against his hair, clumsily pushing it out of his face. He did not look at Siri, but he did not need to. He had seen that worried look on her face so often lately.

"Isn't it? The Council believes so."

They believed it was what he had become and he could not rightfully dispute that.

Siri made an irritated sound.

"Will you look at me?"

He did when he felt equipped to do so; after a long pause, after releasing what feelings he could into the Force, after he was sure he would not snap at her the way he had at the Council.

After he made himself feel the way he once had, a whole Jedi.

Siri's eyes were critical, her expression hard.

"You are not helping your case," she told him.

"I am aware, thank you."

"Then why are you continuing to act this way? You're getting to be as bad as him."

Obi-Wan broke his gaze from her, turning away to look for his tunic. He honestly couldn't say if she meant Qui-Gon or Anakin – though she'd never thought of Qui-Gon as bad. It seemed ridiculous that he could not simply be as bad as himself, however.

"They are old fools," he said softly. He bent down for his undertunic and, after a moment of consideration, used it to mop the sweat off of his face rather than putting it back on. Siri's disapproval rippled through the Force and he again faced her, a wry set to his eyebrows. "You have seen my evidence. You know the Sith are out there. They risk us all by denying it."

"And you risk even more by making foolish accusations." Obi-Wan contained his outrage well, but Siri nonetheless held up a hand, forestalling a protest that he did not plan to issue. She walked closer to him, blue eyes bright with anger. "And they are foolish. What do you expect the Council to do? Drop everything to attack Serenno? Tap all the comm lines on Coruscant to hunt down the other Sith? We must bide our time and wait for the Force to reveal our path, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan waited a beat.

"May I?" he asked snidely. Siri tilted her head at him, mouth pressed into a thin line as she gave him every indication that she wasn't sure if he could – if he could be polite, if he could be rational. He ignored the gesture. "I do not ask that the Council rush out on a Sith hunt. I ask merely that they believe in me!"

His words echoed across the empty training hall, full of frustration that Obi-Wan thought he had released, anger and hurt and myriad feelings that he had tricked himself into believing he had under control. He pressed his eyes closed, opening them only at Siri's touch.

She laid her hand on his cheek, looking up at him. The hardness had not gone from her eyes, but there was something else there as well, sympathy. Pity. Obi-Wan flinched away from it.

"You will have to believe in yourself before that can happen."

"I do –"

She smacked him lightly with that hand.

"Believe in yourself as a Jedi, Obi-wan. You think of yourself as a warrior, a Sith killer. You are more than that."

Yet, killing a Sith was the one accomplishment the Order still acknowledged. Obi-Wan loathed that he clung to the title, that he still wanted the Order itself to receive him and respect him. A Jedi should find wholeness in himself, in the Force. Not in the Order or the admiration of younglings.

But when children looked at a Knight only with disappointment, what wholeness is there to be had?

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at Siri.

"I have a feeling that I know where this is going."

"Good. Trust that feeling. I have said it before – the Council has as well – it is time for you to move on. Take a new Padawan."

"I have trouble believing there is anything I could teach that the Council would like me to pass on to the next generation," Obi-Wan said.

It was entirely untrue, he knew. Yoda and Mace had personally pressed him to take on a Padawan, both in the aftermath of Tatooine and after Nar Shadda. They worried about Anakin's defection, seemed ever more sure that he was the Chosen One and that his defiance was leading him down a path that would prove ruinous for the Republic, if not the galaxy. But they believed Obi-Wan was no longer parcel to that destiny and wished very much to part Obi-Wan from his attachment to Anakin.

He was attached, he could admit that much, but he could not see by the light of the Force how that was wrong. He was drawn down the same path as Anakin to aid him, to bring him back, to destroy the Sith. The Jedi Council had taken up the position that Anakin leaving the Order was in fact proof that he was meant to save it – no mere Padawan should ever have been so successful on his own – and he knew they conspired to bring him back to the Temple. So, in theory, they agreed. Just not on the particulars of who or how it should happen.

"A Jedi becomes himself only through teaching another to be," Siri quoted. "You are losing yourself, Obi-Wan. You need focus. You need a Padawan."

"I have a Padawan," Obi-Wan replied with emphasis.

"Well, you need a better one."

Obi-Wan bit back the reply that there was not a better one, and that was well and truly the problem. A less powerful, less willful, less Chosen Padawan would certainly have been far easier to keep by his side.

Siri sighed.

"There are a few candidates. I could go with you, if you wanted. A Mirialan girl who is very much like you. I think you'd get along well." Obi-Wan could not help but pull a face. He hardly wanted more time with himself, or a version of himself. Siri smiled at that. "Or this Togruta girl – Ahsoka. She'd drive you absolutely crazy. She's on the young side, but it's not unprecedented."

Only because Anakin had set the precedent.

Obi-Wan waved Siri off tiredly.

"You already know my answer," he told her.

She nodded.

There was an awkward silence as Obi-Wan listened in the Force, feeling Siri weigh out her different thoughts. She had many things she wished to talk to Obi-Wan about; a few things she'd like to punch him over. She was conflicted about just how much to trust him, he realized, heart sinking. She wanted very much to fix him and to have her friend back, but wasn't sure how to make that happen.

As always, the Force flowed two ways. She bit her lip, feeling the reciprocation of her own uncertainty. It was the only way Obi-Wan knew how to reach out.

Siri's presence softened, warmth pulsing over to him.

"I do trust you," she said. "And I believe you."

Obi-Wan did have to admit that one holo of woeful, staticky quality was not much to go on, particularly not when accusing a former Jedi Master. But he knew that voice from his own childhood, his own apprenticeship. He could not believe that Yoda did not know it as well.

"And that's why I came here," Siri blundered on. Her uncertainty had blunted, waves of recklessness coursing over it. She trusted him. She wanted to trust him with more than she should.

She knew something.

Obi-Wan breathed evenly through his nose, pushing down his anticipation. She was fully aware that she should not tell him – had come to try to convince herself one way or the other. He had already done plenty to inculcate the opposite of impulse in her, so despite the irrationality of her trust, he needed to encourage it.

"Not to castigate me?" he asked, keeping his tone light. He locked down his shields as tightly as he could.

"Always," she said. She reached snapping open a pouch on her belt with the Force, dipped her hand into it to draw out a small datachip. She worried it between her thumb and forefinger. "The Council was going to tell you. Before you made your report about Dooku."

Ah. So it was not about the Sith at all. He held her vivid blue gaze, projecting all the Jedi calm he had ever possessed.

"And thoroughly dissuaded them," he continued for her, wry smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

Siri raised her eyebrows in a brief show of agreement. Obi-Wan deliberately did not look to the datachip. There was only one matter that could conflict her so, that the Council could withhold from him as punishment.

She knew Anakin's location.

Since Nar Shadda, his movements had largely been public. News crews had swarmed him after multiple battles in the Sluis Sector, causing a firestorm on Coruscant as the Senate demanded answers about this Jedi warlord on the Outer Rim. There had been hearings. Obi-Wan himself had given depositions, though the Jedi Order stood firm on the confidentiality of his missions. It was Jedi business, they averred, and the Senate had no just cause to open sealed Jedi records.

The Senate had formed a sub-committee in response, searching for a legal framework to violate Jedi self-determination. So far, no dice, but Obi-Wan would not put it beyond the Banking Clan's Rush Clovis to materialize an ancient law out of thin air to use against the Order.

But for months, there had been nothing from Anakin. No impetus for the Senate to act and the media pressure on the Jedi Order had abated. Searching for Anakin had actually led Obi-Wan into the Temple communications hub and from there, he had identified the communications between Dooku and the unknown Sith Master.

It seemed, in his distraction, he had missed a vital clue.

Obi-Wan decided to give up on duplicity. It had never served him with Siri. He raised his tunic again to his face, pressing it against dried sweat.

"Where is Anakin?"

She pulled a face, though it seemed not at his assumption.

"Zygerria. And trust me, you are not going to be happy about what he is up to."

That was a truism that had held over from Anakin's days as Obi-Wan's Padawan. It was strangely comforting to think that one thing had not changed.

"Who does the Council plan to send in my stead?" he asked, watching her keenly.

Siri snorted derisively.

"Ah." Obi-Wan frowned. He didn't know why he hadn't expected that. Siri was the same age as he. It ached to realize that he had fallen behind so many of his peers. "And your Padawan? Do they intend for Ferus to go with you? He and Anakin never got along."

"Ferus can handle himself. And if you think Anakin is that much of a danger, then I don't know why you defend him so much to the Council."

"Wouldn't you?"

"I'd never have to," Siri said. She flipped the datachip over to Obi-Wan without warning, none on her face and none in the Force. She had not even known she would do it until that moment. "Just promise me one thing, will you, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan pulled his gaze away from the chip in his hand to look at her earnest expression.

"Of course."

"That no matter what you find, you'll let go. Chosen One or not, Jedi or not, he has his own destiny. Stop letting him determine yours."

Obi-Wan bowed to her.

But he could not promise the impossible.

* * *

_Now_

The Arcardia had minimal weapons. That it had weapons at all was a significant improvement over the Royal Naboo Starships of ten years ago, but Padme was certain it would be destroyed in a dogfight.

Anakin had not been pleased at the news. He gritted his teeth, trying another frequency on the comms and then kneeling down to mess about with the unspooled wiring he'd drawn from the control panel. His own comlink back to the Emancipator was between his teeth, but he didn't let that slow his steady stream of Huttese curses.

Padme drew her attention from him back to the viewport. The gray skies of Kamino had turned a luminous, burning orange. The Trade Federation control ships did not strafe, did not swoop or attack with any kind of identifiable aggression. She recalled that from the blockade. They hovered in plain view, moving lazily through the atmosphere. They attacked at their leisure, undoubtedly after a great deal of discussion on ship.

She wondered if they would even bother landing their troops in the city. If they intended to capture rather than kill.

"We must seek shelter," Obi-Wan told them both tensely.

"I've almost got it."

Padme flicked the comm on. The light pulsed and voices layered over each other as multiple frequencies burst through at once. Some were droids and Padme shivered at the apathetic, callously stupid banter between them.

"They'll be landing soon," she said.

Her hand flexed on the back of the pilot's chair as she stared out at the bombardment. Laser fire had replaced bombs; Padme considered the possibility that the ships had run out. It was a hopeful one. One of the domes of Tipoca City streamed smoke into the cascading rain, fire smoldering and sizzling through durasteel supports. She wondered if that was one of the clone creches, or merely a training center.

"We can only hope, my lady. If they land, we have a chance of fighting them. There is, in fact, an army down here," Obi-Wan replied.

"We can do better than that," Anakin said. He came back up, turning the ship comms off and taking his comlink in hand. He thumbed it on, signal boosted by the Arcadia's computers. "Emancipator, come in."

The comlink crackled briefly, but with no worse static than Padme remembered from her own communications with his fleet.

"Anakin?" a woman asked. "What's going on down there? We're tracking a whole fleet of ships, but there's interference. I'm not getting a good read."

"They're jamming us, Tella. We're under attack down here."

Tella inhaled sharply, swearing softly, but her voice was calm enough as she replied, "I'll scramble the fighters."

"Good. I don't want the Emancipator engaging. Move to high orbit," he said. He held up a hand to cut off her protest, despite the audio only line. "No, I don't want to hear it. The ship is in no condition to fight an entire fleet. And prep my fighter. I'm coming up there."

"Anakin, sir..." Tella replied helplessly, reverting to titles that Padme knew were forbidden. "That's suicide."

Anakin grinned wildly, flipping the comlink around his hand and catching it again.

"You know me better than that. Patch me through to Threepio."

"Whatever you have planned, it better be good," she said. But Padme could feel the smile in her voice, chagrin and exasperation and unshakable belief. Tella was a fighter and Anakin had led her to victory before. Padme just hoped that his winning streak wasn't about to end here. "Patching you through now."

The static cleared to a perfectly silent line.

Padme turned a frown on Anakin. Threepio was still partially dismantled, hooked into the ship. He lifted his eyebrows at her, expression smug. He was showing off his little project.

"Jabitha?" he asked.

The voice was less mechanical that Padme expected, smooth and sweetly feminine. She felt an irrational flash of jealousy at the sound.

"Yes, Ani?"

"I know you don't have all your processing power right now, but I need your help," he said gently. Obi-Wan looked over to Padme in complete bafflement and she placed a hand on his arm. She would explain later, if she could. If she truly understood herself. "What's your read of the ships out here?"

"They appear unfriendly," Jabitha said. She sounded oddly disappointed. "I don't think they'll link with me."

"No, probably not."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan interjected. The Trade Federation ships had stopped their bombardment, but their hangar bays had opened. Already, landing craft were descending toward the holes blown into the city domes. "Whatever you are doing, do it faster."

Anakin nodded sharply.

"Jabitha, do what you can. I need you to chat up some droids, slow them down. Help our fighters out too, while you're at it."

"Of course, Ani. Anything else?"

"I'm sure there will be," Anakin assured her.

He did not cut the link, instead clipping his comlink to his collar. He slid into the pilot seat of the Arcadia and then swiveled it to look up at Obi-Wan and Padme.

"I'm going up there. I'll try to keep your ship in one piece, Padme," he said. His blue eyes were wide and worried. "I don't know if you should come with me..."

It would be dangerous regardless, but Padme had no interest in being blown out of the sky. Hopeless as the situation seemed, she'd rather face it in the city, with a blaster in her hands.

"We shall man the city defenses," Obi-Wan told Anakin, who bit his lip before nodding hesitantly, accepting the declaration. "And with that in mind, we need to get inside and find Taun We and Lama Su."

"Yes," Padme agreed, but her feet didn't move. She couldn't help it. She reached out for Anakin's hand, squeezing it tightly. She might never see him again. Padme tried for a smile and felt it waver on her face. "Who's Jabitha? Should I be jealous?"

Obi-Wan answered unexpectedly, "Jabitha was his first love."

Padme shot him a nasty glare, but Anakin just laughed. He brought their entangled hands up to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.

"You were my first love," Anakin said quickly. Padme's breath caught in her throat. He wasn't joking. "Jabitha was a ship I had for a while."

"A living ship named after a girl," Obi-Wan put in.

"So I should be jealous," Padme concluded.

"Never," Anakin said. He released her hand and pushed at her in the Force. "Now get out of here."

Padme took a deep breathe, pushing away the urge to fling herself down into the co-pilot's chair. It was a foolish impulse, that desire to die by his side. Obi-Wan was already making his way out of the ship, without a goodbye. That clinched it for her: he was sure they would live, sure he and Anakin would have another chance.

She chose to believe in that, turning to pelt down the gangplank after him

Without Anakin Force-repelling the rain, she was soaked to the bone within seconds. Despite the cold, hammering rain, the air seared her nose. She could smell the city burning.

It was only worse inside, the brilliantly white walls dimmed to emergency lighting, gray smoke trails of an unknown gas swirling around their feet as they strode down the hall.

They found Taun We soon enough.

"Master Jedi! I am thankful you have returned," she said and while her voice was as languid and calm as it had been during their tour of the facility, the entire length of her body trembled with fear.

"And I apologize for the trouble it seems we have brought to your doorstep. We must act quickly. What defenses do you have?"

Taun We blinked slowly at him.

"Defenses?"

Padme felt her heart sink. She supposed that the location of Kamino had been defense enough for them, particularly given that they were not in standard space maps.

Obi-Wan was not discouraged, however.

"The army. How did you plan to deliver them to the Jedi?"

"Master Sifo-Dyas was very thorough. Over the years, he sent us many designs for ships, and funds for their construction. Many of them have been delivered already. The eldest clones bunk on ship and train on the controls," Taun We said, tilting her head to the side. She did not appear to make the connection, that this may well be their salvation.

Obi-Wan smiled wryly at her.

"Then there is hope, yet."

"What is the damage so far?" Padme asked.

Taun We updated them as she led them to the hangars, rather more slowly than Padme would have liked. She could hear the distant screech of tearing metal as the droid ships landed, rending apart the domes and walls of the city.

One of the clone incubation centers had been fully destroyed, but power was unaffected. Most of the non-essential systems had been put into lock down to prevent the damage under the barrage of laser strikes; quick thinking had already spared them from a full overload on the system. Several landing platforms had been destroyed or rendered unusable, and levels five through twenty of the tertiary dome were already under droid control. They were cutting through to the primary dome as landers attempted to dock, coming at the command center in two directions.

"And the clones?" Obi-Wan asked.

"They are ready to defend their home," Taun We said. For all that her calm appeared impenetrable, there was a sudden harshness to her tone. "Many of their brothers have already died."

She brought her long fingered hand up to a control panel and the door in front of them opened. Rather than leading them to a walkway, as before, she had led them directly to the training room floor. Thousands of clones stood before them, perfectly arrayed in razor sharp lines, white armor gleaming in the gray half-light of the emergency beacons. Large, black blasters rested at the ready in their hands.

"They are yours to command, Master Jedi," Taun We said with a sweeping gesture.

Obi-Wan surveyed the assembled troops before approaching a clone with bands of yellow across his breastplate – Padme assumed he was a commander of some sort.

"What are our assets, trooper?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Five battalions, sir, with another two nearly trained and willing to fight. The city doesn't have any turbolaser emplacements, but the gunships and landers might do in a pinch. The AT-TEs have heavy guns – if we can get them into position." The trooper fixed a look on Obi-Wan. "Just give the order."

Padme suppressed a shiver. The clone had already thought through the defense of the city – preservation of his own life and his brothers' – but couldn't act without an order. She wondered if he would take it from anyone, or if it had to be a Jedi. If that was what Master Sifo-Dyas asked for in their programming.

"Very good …" Obi-Wan trailed off leadingly, hoping for a name to call the trooper by. When the man didn't supply it, he asked directly, "What shall I call you, trooper?"

"Cody, sir. Commander Cody."

At least he had a name, Padme thought vaguely.

"Excellent, Cody. You're with me. We need to get those AT-TEs onto the landing platforms. I want them laying down cover fire so that our ships can take off. The gunships will take the defense of the city itself, attacking at the landing sites of the droid transports. Do the assault ships carry any fighters?"

"Afraid not, sir. We were told the Jedi would be providing those."

Obi-Wan grimaced. It seemed that they'd be relying on Anakin's forces for that. Padme felt a sudden burst of rage at Dooku for that, blindly jumping them to Kamino without a thought toward how vulnerable they would be without the rest of the fleet. Anakin would be all but alone up there, in his fighter. Some ally Dooku was turning out to be.

"We need to take back the city," Padme interjected. Obi-Wan nodded, rubbing a hand over his beard. She caught his eye. "I have some experience with that."

Obi-Wan seemed to have the same question she did regarding the clones' loyalty. He looked to Cody.

"Padme Amidala is a trusted friend of the Jedi and an experienced leader. She will need all the troops we can spare to fight the droids."

Cody blinked at him.

"Sir."

"And a blaster," Padme said. Her silver, Nubian designed blaster was good for picking off targets individually, but she had the feeling she was going to need something a little less elegant and a little more powerful to destroy the droids that had invaded the city. Accuracy would be somewhat less important.

Cody flipped his own heavy blaster around, offering it to her. Padme hefted it and looked it over, finding the safety with ease. She nodded her thanks to him.

"We need to cut those droids off before they enter the primary dome. They're coming at us from two directions, so we need to come at them from three," Padme said.

Cody and Obi-Wan shared a look.

"The AT-TEs will take care of one side, at least," Obi-Wan said. "Once it's in position, they should stop any of the landers from gaining access to this part of the city."

"But we still need to clear the droids from the tertiary dome and halt their advance," Padme said.

"Two teams," Cody said. He offered her a grim, hard smile. "Which do you prefer, my lady? Sneak or attack?"

It was, frankly, going to be both.

"I'm afraid I have more experience sneaking," she said ruefully.

Cody shook his head, not comprehending what she might be sorry for. The implicit cowardice, that she was thrusting him and his soldiers directly into the line of fire. That as much as she wanted to, she honestly was not prepared to lead from the front. She was well aware his team would be facing heavy losses.

He turned to the troops, dividing them up. The bulk were splits between his forces – skeleton crews would take the AT-TEs into position – and Obi-Wan's on the assault ships. The remainder were Padme's. They assembled before her, a lean group of men in shining armor. Padme met their eyes, one after another, trying to give each his due. She honestly couldn't tell a single one of them apart from the others.

Cody pulled up the blueprints of the city on small holoprojector. He traced a path with one gloved finger.

"I'd suggest taking this route, through the storage facility. If you get pinned down, there's plenty of cover. The droids looked like they were trying for this junction when we went into lock down," he said. He highlighted the path and it glowed red briefly. "Can't say they're still there, but if they are, that's where we'll rendezvous."

He handed the projector over and Padme took another long moment to look at it, fully aware of the pounding laser fire outside the dome, the distant burn of unextinguished fires.

She flicked it off and pocketed it, not at all sure that she had memorized the path.

"I shall signal you as well," Obi-Wan said. "And hope that I have not failed in my mandate."

"Me too," Padme replied.

She certainly didn't intend to let the Trade Federation's battle droids do what their assassins hadn't managed.

* * *

There was something familiar about all of this – flying a beautiful Nubian space ship into deadly skies, the half circles of Trade Federation ships hanging in front of him with ominous indifference.

Artoo beeped exactly that thought at him.

Anakin threw the little droid a grin.

"I know, right?"

Lasers blazed and Anakin rolled the Arcadia smoothly through the wide spray of fire. It was directed more at the city, laying down cover fire for the landers. His ship hadn't registered yet – the droids weren't all that sophisticated when it came to adapting to new situations. He was sure that no one in the fleet had figured on anyone actually trying to take off, so it hadn't been programmed into the battle scenario.

He had seconds, at most, before they realized their error.

Already snubfighters were swarming just outside the launch bays, assembling their formations. Anakin took his eyes from his flight path, hands tense on the controls, as his eyes tracked them.

"Jabitha?" he called into the air.

"Ani?" she asked back.

"Any progress?"

There was a long, considering pause. Anakin swallowed deeply. He was asking too much of her. She wasn't even here – and damn Dooku to blazes for that! He had no idea what he was interfering with. It wasn't just that Jabitha was their best defense, the cornerstone to developing the Free Worlds fleet into a formidable force in the galaxy, but that he was actually tearing her apart by separating her mind this way.

Anakin didn't know if it was painful for her. He had to hope that it wasn't. She wasn't complete yet, he told himself. She was used to being in pieces.

That really didn't feel any better, so Anakin pushed the thought down, trying to focus. Battle always gave him purpose, helped him work through the feelings he'd never been able to release into the Force like a proper Jedi.

"I think so," Jabitha said uncertainly. "I tagged the Arcadia as a friendly. So far, they seem to agree."

"That'll only work for so long. The pilots have eyes, you know."

But it was good enough. He didn't need invisibility. He just needed a decent shot at getting back to the Emancipator. If it took them a moment longer to notice him, even then, he'd probably make it.

Almost as one, the snubfighters streaked away from the control ships. Two small cohorts flew directly down toward the city, large landers moving slowly behind their cover fire. But the bulk of the fighters headed toward Anakin.

The only game in town.

He exhaled a long, slow breath, hands tightening on the controls. This was the fun part.

The Arcadia sliced through the air with admirable grace. Anakin smiled as she responded to his touch, gaining speed and altitude, swaying between laser fire with subtle, smooth grace. The fighters banked, swinging around to tail him. Anakin narrowed his eyes. They would not be following him back to the Emancipator.

He cut his speed, dropping thousands of meters in a split second, before reengaging the engine. The sensor scans showed the fighters above him and in any other situation, that would probably be a bad thing. But higher ground was meaningless without ground. They swooped downward in a flurry of blazing lasers and badly coordinated formations, and Anakin let gravity do its worst, speeding them all too quickly toward another group of fighters. He keyed the rear holocam, bringing up the display to watch the crash.

Anakin took the Arcadia into the thing upper atmosphere where he sighted several of his own banged up fighters.

"Just in time," he commed over.

Tabs, the fleet patrol coordinator had been none too thrilled to be pulled out of system by Dooku's little jaunt, but Anakin had the sense that had passed. At the very least, he'd be thanking her personally later; he was glad to see her familiar wing waggle as she formed up beside him, casually shooting down two straggling Trade Federation fighters still foolish enough to try following him.

The comm light flashed on the control panel. They had a link established.

"What the kriff happened down there?" Tabs asked.

"I don't know," Anakin replied tightly. He glared at the Emanicipator as it loomed in his viewport. The docking bay was open, his own fighters flying out to engage the enemy. "But I think Dooku does."

"A trap?"

Anakin sat back in the pilot's seat as the automatic docking procedures began. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to decide how much to say. He trusted his crew implicitly. They'd proven themselves a hundred times, followed him into situations where there was no reason to trust. him Where they had every reason to believe the worst of him.

The bigger problem, really, was that he wasn't even sure what he thought. Obi-Wan's accusations made too much sense to be dismissed entirely, and it wasn't like Anakin was all that attached to Dooku to begin with, but he hated the idea of a spy in his camp, a deceiver working among his crew. He would die for them and he expected no less from anyone else on his ship.

But at the end of the day, he didn't sense that kind of malice from Dooku. Disdain, yeah. Dooku had that in spades for Anakin; he largely didn't care, as long as the man was useful.

"Not for us, I don't think," Anakin eventually said. The Arcadia settled softly on the desk of the hangar bay. "The Trade Federation has had it in for Padme for years."

This was admittedly pretty extreme just for an assassination attempt.

"Jabitha," Anakin called. He punched a key on the Arcadia's controls, putting the conversation with Tabs on hold. "Link my comms up."

"Of course, Ani."

Once she had her mind together, they'd finally have a decent communications network, that was for sure. For the moment, she could stabilize all his transmissions and put them on a single line. He toyed with the idea of linking her into the Kaminoan ships, but that was probably pressing the point. He wanted Jabitha to be available for more in the battle, not occupied juggling his calls.

He jogged out of the Arcadia and across the hangar floor to his prepped, battle worn Delta-6. Artoo sped along behind him, twittering and blatting the whole time.

"I know we're outnumbered," Anakin said.

He used the Force to aid him as he jumped into the cockpit, settling himself as he ran his hands over the controls. It was an odd meditation, to be sure, but soothing and familiar as anything the Temple ever taught him. More effective, too. Artoo let himself be lifted into position, connections sparking up between him and the onboard computer. An irrelevant screen displayed a translation of what he was saying. Anakin ignored it.

He couldn't help but be pleased that Artoo was flying with him. That he hadn't even hesitated, hadn't needed to be asked.

Now, all Anakin had to do was not get them both killed.

"I have done this before," he told Artoo. The cockpit slid closed over him and he lifted off the hangar floor. "We never go into battle better off than our enemy."

Artoo made a dismayed sound which the computer failed to translate. Anakin bit back a chuckle. Even droids just sighed sometimes.

He flew the Delta-6 out into the black of space and immediately flipped upside down, looking up to the battle on Kamino. Tabs and his other pilots – nearly a dozen in all – formed up around him. Though Anakin was loath to hang back, he wasn't willing to engage just yet. He watched the flare of explosions, clouds darkening even as they were streaked by laser fire. He wasn't quite ready to lead his pilots to their deaths.

"It could still be a trap for us," Tabs said into his still open line, linked from his personal comm into the Delta-6. "They decided against giving peace a chance."

"How would they even know we'd be here?" Anakin asked. He knew the answer, of course. Dooku.

"I don't know, Anakin. But we both know how far some people will go to protect their 'property'. The Trade Federation is no different than any Zygerrian, any Hutt, kriffing hell, any slaver on any world. I don't know what they deal in, but it's bad enough that they think they're next on your hit list. They're so afraid of you they chased you beyond the edge of the galaxy."

"And they'll pay for it," he assured her.

Anakin banked his fighter to the side and rolled into a dive, straight down to Kamino. Tabs and the others followed without a word.

"Hit and run, guys," Anakin commanded. "Target the landers and draw the fighters away, but one at a time. Do not engage the control ships and do not fight entire squadrons. We're trying to give Obi-Wan a chance to get his own fighters in the air, not commit suicide."

"Gotcha, boss," said Tabs. Several other variations filtered through.

The pilots peeled away from him, several ducking back into the clouds to harry the Trade Federation fighters from behind cover. Anakin watched the blaze of Tipoca City for several long moments before ignoring his own orders.

He took the fighter into a steep dive, directly into a cluster of Trade Federation droid fighters. They were strafing one of the domes below, just now retracting to reveal a huge, wedge shaped ship. Anakin could feel the deep Force thrum of Obi-Wan down there. He hissed out a breath as the lasers scorched the unshielded ship.

"Jabitha, am I still a friendly?" he asked.

Anakin spiraled his Delta-6 through the air and flipping around to try to gauge the enemy reaction. So far they were ignoring him, but he wasn't sure if that was simply because they were focused on their own mission. He made another pass at them and red blaster bolts filled his view screen. He grinned ferally as he dodged through them.

"I – no, I don't think so," Jabitha said, a bit too late. "I could try..."

Anakin shook his head, even as Artoo made a nasty little laughing sound.

"Don't get full of yourself," he told the droid. "No, I don't need to be a friendly anymore. But I do need to be a target."

"I think you have that covered."

Anakin juked left to avoid blaster fire, swinging down low to skim the surface of the turbulent Kamino ocean before punching upward, back through the droid formation. They scattered and reformed, still back on their original heading, only a few stray bolts fired in his direction.

"Not well enough. I need more of them on me. Tag me high priority," Anakin said through gritted teeth.

He tried to concentrate on the Force as he flew, partitioning his awareness clumsily to reach out toward Obi-Wan even as he dodged through the firefight he had immersed himself in. He hadn't done this in a long time and sweat beaded on his forehead as he tried to find Obi-Wan, get a read on him. Briefly, he let his eyes slip closed.

"How much longer do you need me to stall?" he asked aloud.

Obi-Wan's brightness flared against the eerie sameness of the clones; Anakin pushed away the temptation to search out Padme, to see her beauty reflected in the Force. There would be time enough for that later.

Anakin opened his eyes again, pulling hard to the right and spinning past one of the fighters newly focused on him. The laser blast streaked past his cockpit and an explosion shook his ship as it hit the next nearest fighter. The cloud of droid fighters around him had become so dense they were inflicting friendly fire.

That was good. Kind of.

Anakin licked his lips as he stared at the fighters blotting out the sky, looking beyond them in the Force. Obi-Wan's calm hid an inner turmoil: anxiety and tension, impatience Anakin had rarely felt from him. Satisfaction.

Anakin nodded jerkily to himself. Not long. He just had to hold out a little longer.

The already black, storm cast sky turned a shade darker. Anakin craned his neck to peer through the roof of his cockpit. A control ship loomed above him, huge turbolasers swinging downward.

He probably should have been a little more specific with Jabitha about who he wanted targeting him.

The blasts pounded against the water, burning through the air and sending their own fighters careening through the air. Anakin swore as he maneuvered through the flying wreckage, laser fire, and remaining ships, the Force slipping in around him to guide his hands.

"Status?" Anakin asked. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears.

"Maffa is down, so is Larapeth. Clena'lya had to make her way back to the Emancipator. I saw a lot of smoke. I think the rest of the squad is making it, but I don't have full contact," Tabs answered.

Anakin didn't have the time to feel guilty.

"Jabitha? Readings on the Kaminoan ships."

If his tone was a little bit snippy, well, he was still dodging city destroying bolts aimed directly at his little ship by – oh kriff, how many even were there? – more than one control ship. Jabitha was still learning and she wasn't even herself right now, so Anakin wasn't going to tell her off about it or anything, but he was really starting to worry she'd gotten him killed.

"Three have full power and are lifting off. One is disabled. Life form readings are –"

"Bad," Anakin cut her off. At least those clones had died trying to fight, unlike the ones in the bombed out creche. "If they have the chance, tell them I could use a little help."

Jabitha sounded surprised and upset, "You? I – are you alright?"

Anakin rolled the ship to avoid yet another high powered laser blast, smacking right into a droid ship as he did. He powered against it, pushing it directly into the line of fire of another fighter before easing off to swoop upwards. He finally made it out of the cloud of fighters, neck hair prickling at the danger behind him as the fighters formed up on his tail.

"I'm good," Anakin said. "I'd just enjoy the company."

He took the chance to look out to Tipoca City and its blackened shells of domes. Several of the landing craft were gone, he noted, replaced by high powered troop transports of some kind. They were laying down much needed cover fire.

"I could help," Jabitha offered. "I think the droid ships like me better now. They're funny, really."

Anakin rolled his eyes. He didn't need to hear about her new found friends.

"I'd appreciate it," he told her.

And as one, the droid fighters dropped from the sky, sinking into the ocean.

Anakin took his hands off the controls in surprise, jerking himself to catch them again as he started to dive with the falling ships. He flew a circle over the bubbling ocean through suddenly clear skies. The control ships were still aloft above him, their fire ceased for a moment. Jabitha's doing, he thought, with a jolt of awe.

He wondered what exactly he had created in her.

* * *

I know I'm not good about replying to reviews, so I just wanted to say thank you to all my readers and I appreciate all your comments. 3

Updates should be closer together from here on out.


	8. Chapter 8

_One Year Ago_

Zygerria was certainly one of the more unpleasant places Obi-Wan had ever visited. It was not as dank or dirty as the lower levels of Coruscant, nor as unpopulated and wild as worlds like Gamorr. It looked quite normal, actually, with stone houses that reminded him vaguely of Naboo's architecture and open bazaars recalling the spring festivals of Alderaan.

But the planet seeped sickness into the Force. Obi-Wan felt it trickle down his spine, clawing and grasping and coating his soul more with every step.

There was suffering here, centuries of it, the history of an entire world built on it. Obi-Wan could feel the countless lives spent here, sold and taken for nothing.

Zygerria was a society that dressed itself in finery, parodied civilization, all bought and paid for by the lives of sentient beings.

Siri had discussed the mission thoroughly with Obi-Wan during the trip through hyperspace, tasking Ferus to meditate anywhere but where they were to avoid any commentary on his part. She had schematics of the Zygerrian palace, a long list of Zygerrian customs, and a very cleanly laid out budget for everything from equipment to bribery. All pressed into Obi-Wan's hand as he boarded his unremarkable, banged up transport ship to descend to the planet's surface.

And yet Obi-Wan could not shake the feeling of being unprepared. Siri's datachip covered everything but Anakin's own activities. The information on him was spare, nothing more than what Obi-Wan had seen himself on the Holonet: Anakin's fleet had grown exponentially in the last few years, slave worlds falling before him one after another, and then gone suspiciously silent in just the last four months. His fleet was nowhere to be found, not by Jedi intelligence nor the Republic's intelligence service. The lead that Anakin would be present on Zygerria was tenuous at best, a rumor relayed by Quinlan Vos, and only one mentioned by one of his contacts. The underworld knew nothing of Anakin's activities; Zygerria itself apparently knew nothing, though they were infamously close-mouthed to outsiders.

But it was Quin, so Obi-Wan believed it. He wouldn't forward a lead that he himself doubted, especially knowing how Obi-Wan himself would react to it. Quinlan's commentary on the lead gave Obi-Wan hope: slavery was so entrenched on Zygerria that it would be impossible to combat single-handedly. Whatever Anakin had done with his fleet, it was assured that he had not abandoned it to return to his former tactics of solo assassination. Whatever operation was underway would take weeks, if not months. His presence would likely be unmistakable so there was little chance of the Jedi missing his arrival.

Obi-Wan kept his head down as he walked through the capital, his hands clasped hard around his wrists under the disguising poncho he wore: restraint against the reflexive desire to draw his lightsaber. It was obvious why Anakin was drawn to this place.

Less obvious why Obi-Wan should stop him.

But it was not about the crimes committed on Zygerria, he thought to himself. It was about safeguarding Anakin himself, saving him from the foolish actions he was likely to take.

When Obi-Wan had found him on Nar Shadda, it had been in a dirty, abandoned building, scurrying with vermin of sentient and non-sentient varieties. The filth was unimaginable in the Force, the years of cruelty and deprivation. He recalled the shock on Anakin's face, the wan sharpness of his expression, the darkness in his eyes that was bleedover from all the many criminals around him.

The Jedi Order did not cloister itself away from society out of simple ignorance. Jedi children were vulnerable to the emotions of others, to the histories of places. Without the serenity of the Temple, without the conscious guidance of a Master to help them divide self from other, Force-strong younglings could be warped out of recognition.

And while Anakin had nothing if not a strong sense of self, and while he had come to the Temple intact, despite a painful childhood outside the Temple, Obi-Wan had good reason to worry.

He'd seen it, on Nar Shadda. Anakin had pulled back, in the end, taking Obi-Wan's advice to acquire allies, to free Owen of the path he had set his adopted brother on. But those days in that room, sleeping above the misery of so many people, amid the wretched villainy of others, had worn on Obi-Wan himself.

Obi-Wan had been silent for days upon returning to the Temple, desperately immersing himself back into the warmth of the Force and other Jedi. Anakin did not have that respite and he did not seek it.

It was hard not to fear what Obi-Wan would find of him here on Zygerria.

"Do you want to buy a girl," a Zygerrian suddenly asked.

He startled, cursing himself for losing sight of where he was. The bazaar cleared to what at first seemed a stone quarry, a large pit with burly Zygerrian men stalking between deeper holes. Yet upon inspection, the men worn electrowhips, not tool belts. They had the fat kind of strength born of brutality rather than work. And, peering up from those dark holes, Obi-Wan could make out faint pinpricks of eyes, already losing hope.

An awful smile curved the Zygerrian's lips.

"Or boy. Or we have in between, if you like."

Obi-Wan settled himself. He crossed his arms, looking back down at the pits with what he hoped was a buyer's interest.

"What species do you have available?"

The Zygerrian's smile widened. He threw an arm around Obi-Wan, taking him for a walk. A steep ramp led down to the pits. Obi-Wan stared, beginning to be able to pick out individuals in the Force, even among all the anguish, ancient and new.

"Human," the slaver purred out. "As well as Twi'Lek. I know your species has a … predilection for them. Myriad others as well, just name the breed you are looking for. I surely have it in stock."

Obi-Wan's stomach churned at the phrasing. There is stillness in the Force, he reminded himself. Their pain shall pass. My pain is unneeded, an insult to their own.

He narrowed his eyes, craning his neck as he peered into the darkness. If Anakin planned a revolt on this planet, it hinged, as always, on the state of the slaves themselves. On Tatooine, they had been controlled with chips and the brutal psychology of slavery itself. Obi-Wan feared that Zygerria took matters more in hand.

It was entirely likely that Anakin would be relying on a slave population too sick and hurt to help him, hopeless in all the ways beings could be.

"I should like to see the quality of your merchandise before I make a decision," he said.

"Of course," the Zygerrian said.

He waved to one of the guards to haul a slave from the pit. As Obi-Wan feared, the girl – human, age obscured by filth and years of degradation – looked wastingly thin.

A booming laugh sounded behind Obi-Wan an instant before a hand fell on his shoulder. It was a testament to his training that he merely turned, eyebrow raised at the corpulent Zygerrian as he laughed.

"You put on a good show, Carrak," he said. He wiped at his eyes, mockingly flicking away tears. He leaned close to Obi-Wan. "He is showing you the dregs, of course. Working you up to his high class items – one last grand sale before the bottom drops out of the market, yes, Carrak?"

"I see," Obi-Wan said. He crossed his arms and looked out over the slave pits. There was little enough to see, but he was not willing to turn for this newcomer if he didn't present himself first. Diffidently, he asked, "So you suggest I wait until the price drops?"

Carrak hissed a Zygerrian curse that Obi-Wan was not at all familiar with. The other Zygerrian stepped around Obi-Wan to face him, grinning at Carrak. He tucked his hands into his belt, above his belly.

"I suggest you skip the wedding festivities and stake out the auctions, instead. I am hosting them myself and early comers will certainly have their pick." His sharp teeth flashed. "I know for a fact the Queen's dower is full of healthy, hale young slaves."

Obi-Wan contained his surprise. There had been nothing in Siri's briefing notes about the Queen's engagement, nor anything on the Holonet. He would have expected outrage from the evening analysts, at least.

"A wedding?" he asked lightly. "Oh my, I am in luck. I had no idea."

Carrak gave him a haughty look.

"Queen Scintel would hardly advertise her nuptials to outlanders. Especially not Republic outlanders," he spat.

Obi-Wan nodded as if this was a fair point. It probably was. While the Jedi Order had no jurisdiction within the Zygerrian Empire, there were always Jedi who had Qui-Gon's tendency for creative interpretations of Council mandates. It was ever so easy to accidentally end up off course in space, or to steal a convoy of slaves by mistake.

Anakin was not the only Jedi who would think crashing a slaver queen's wedding was a brilliant idea, though he was the only one actually doing it.

"But I know a trustworthy outlander when I see one. My name is Jeros and it will be your pass into any auction you wish to visit," the fat Zygerrian said. His hand skimmed over Obi-Wan's shoulder, never landing, a spectral, more than vaguely disgusting caress.

"It's odd that you pronounce rich that way," Obi-Wan said. "But I am indeed."

Although he dearly hoped he wouldn't need to be. The Council would not like that expense report.

Jeros smiled shamelessly.

"Any auction you wish."

Obi-Wan inclined his head in thanks.

"I shall certainly attend. Now, can you tell me more of the incoming shipment? Where did this prince acquire his slaves?"

To be a dower befitting a queen, the shipment had to be thousands of beings and a pit formed in Obi-Wan's stomach at the thought. The slave trade was not well tracked by the Republic – to do so would be to acknowledge moral responsibility. Anakin is right, Obi-Wan thought. He pushed the thought aside as he had so many times. It was no surprise that there was injustice in the wilds of the galaxy. There was injustice on Coruscant, as well.

Carrak snarled, spitting on the ground, while Jeros chortled.

"He is no prince," Carrak said.

"He is a cunning warrior," Jeros added. "He did not buy his slaves or breed them. He tricked them with the lie of freedom. And now he will bring them to Zygerria, to kneel before his new queen."

Obi-Wan could not help the sharp look he shot Jeros. His eyes skimmed over the Zygerrian, wishing very much that he had heard the man wrong.

"Oh?" he said lightly. He found himself wishing the datachip had been more thorough. "I think I may have heard of this man. I did not realize he was a slaver."

"Not many did," Jeros chortled. He slapped Obi-Wan's back and it was all he could do not to stumble. "As I said, this Skywalker is cunning."

Obi-Wan rubbed his hand across his face, staring out at the misery of the Zygerrian capital. In the distance, an electrowhip cracked, but he heard no one cry out. They knew better by now.

Oh, dear Force, Anakin. What are you doing?

* * *

_Now_

The hall was black with scorch marks. Padme shielded her face with her sleeve, scowling over arm as she braced her heavy blaster on her hip, firing indiscriminately toward the advancing droids. There was little cover – only downed droids, downed clones. The clones had cussed fiercely at the loss of their brothers, regret obvious in the tilt of their helmeted heads as they looked down at them. But their training, or their programming, held true.

They simply kept fighting.

Padme winced as she watched another man fall.

The droids were different from those she remembered on Naboo. Built more heavily, with strong weaponry. Oh, there were the other, less advanced models mixed in among them, but they had fallen quickly under the clones' coordinated attacks. The new droids were relentless, pressing back against Padme's task force.

So far, they had held each other at a stalemate, but Padme wasn't sure how much longer it could last. She ached all over. Her ears rang from the blaster firing, the still reverberating explosions from outside the dome, the clank of droids in the hall as they walked and fought and fell. Her arm was all but numb; she couldn't feel her finger anymore, trusting only that since she was still firing it was still there.

But droids didn't tire.

"Obi-Wan?" she said into the comlink attached to her sleeve. It was blinking green, indicating the open line to Obi-Wan's ship. "How much longer?"

She heard a distant sizzle across the line; overloaded systems, blown under fire, most likely. There was faint coughing.

"Not much longer, my lady," he said diffidently.

"Good. I don't think we can hold out if it takes more time."

She could almost hear his grimace.

"The AT-TEs are in position and Cody reports progress. It is simply a matter of making orbit."

Padme bit back a laugh. Obi-Wan had a gift for understatement and she couldn't say she entirely appreciated it right now.

Instead she turned to her clone commander, catching his eye as well as she could with his face entirely covered by his helmet. He moved over to her side, dodging across the blaster lit hallway and positioning himself in front of her, willingly offering his body as cover. She hated herself for how grateful she felt.

"We can't keep doing this," Padme told him.

He nodded.

"We'll tire out long before the clankers do," he agreed.

He transferred the grip of his blaster to his off hand, reaching down to his belt to palm a detonator. He held it up, ready to throw, and Padme grabbed his forearm to stop him.

"Wait."

She looked down at the scattered wreckage on the floor, heart in her throat as she took in the number of dead men. But among them, many of the older battle droids lay in sparking, smoldering pieces. She just needed one that was intact, eyes searching until she found one that would work – forward, near the line of fire and well into the fray of combat. It lay twitching beneath blinding red bolts of energy, head moving from side to side as it babbled. It's arms had been blown off, but legs still moved jerkily as if trying to kick at the clones just out of pettiness.

Maybe it was. She really hated those things.

"There," Padme said, nodded her head as much as she was willing, hoping the droids couldn't pick up on something like that.

"Alright, but what do you want it for, Senator?"

She smiled up at him.

"I think you know."

A sigh crackled through his helmet.

"How? Much of a programmer, are you?"

Padme wasn't, but Anakin was. She exhaled a long breath before keying her comlink on again, open on the same frequency as before. She just hoped that Anakin was that good, because she didn't know how else to do this.

"Jabitha?" she asked.

And instead of the ill humored response she half expected Obi-Wan to come back with, she heard the ship's light, slightly insecure voice.

"Yes?"

"Can you see the droids?" Padme asked. She rubbed at the crease between her eyebrows, as she struggled to find a better way to phrase it. She really didn't know what Jabitha saw or understood, if she could be spoken to as a droid or as a person. If she truly understood anything at all. "I mean, can you see their individual magnetic signatures?"

"Of course," Jabitha replied.

Padme dropped her hand. That made this easier, at least.

"Can you take control of one of them for me?"

Jabitha was slow to respond, a soft humming sound coming over the line. With a start, Padme realized that Jabitha was making the sound, mimicking the thoughtful, unconscious noise a person might make. Oh, what are you doing, Anakin? Padme wondered. She didn't know if it was wonderful or terrible that he was programming Jabitha to be so human.

"I need to know which one exactly. I tried to triangulate based on your position and home in through the control ship computers, but they're not happy with me right now."

Padme shared a look with her clone commander.

"Why not?"

"Oh, you'll see," Jabitha said slyly.

Padme couldn't have suppressed her shiver if she tried.

"So we just need to know which droid that is," the clone said. He gestured to the fallen, still twitching droid. "Don't suppose you can read the serial number from here?"

She shook her head. It was obvious enough that if she wanted to use the droid to carry a bomb back behind the line of engagement, she'd have to get to him herself. She threw her blaster to her clone commander, expression stern as he caught it in his off hand and brought it to bear, already in position.

The clones had pressed the droids back by inches, pressed against the walls and using wreckage to prop their weapons as they fired continuously into the battalion of shining, advanced battle droids. Her droid, her mark, sparked between their feet, in the middle of the corridor. Padme swallowed deeply. She gave one look back to her commander, already standing in the middle of the hall, both blasters raised.

"Cover me," she said and he opened fire.

She dodged out into the fray, ducked low, and skidding on her knees to the fallen droid. Her hands worked over it, turning it to try to find any marking that could give her the information she needed. It jerked under her touch, head shifting to the side.

"Hey! Who goes there?"

It's vocoder was scratchy, reverberating with what almost sounded like hiccups.

"You tell me," Padme said, leaning over it. The droid flopped its head again and this time threw sparks, falling painfully on her skin. She gritted her teeth, glaring down at the droid. "Identify yourself."

"Roger, roger. Designation B1-421-Thesh 1," the droid slurred out. It seemed focus, looking at her belligerently. "And who are you?"

"The Queen you tried to kill," Padme snapped.

But that was another time and another droid entirely. Not that there was much difference. Padme took a breath. She didn't have time for remembrance or anger.

"Did you get that, Jabitha?" Padme asked.

"Of course."

And immediately, Padme saw the change sweep over the droid. The twitching ceased and its eyes swiveled in a full circle, as if resetting. It shambled to its feet, Jabitha's distant control overtaking the fused systems that insisted that really, no, it couldn't walk. The droid listed to one side, certain servos beyond convincing, and turned expectantly to Padme. She felt foolish, gazing back at it.

Padme turned back to her clone commander – and blazes if they didn't need names, all of them, not just Cody! – just as heavy fire streaked down the hall, breaking past the line of clone defenders. She threw herself back to the floor, pulling the droid down with her.

Pain hit and then the smell, the stench of burning flesh. Padme pressed her forehead to the broken, scorched floor, fighting down sudden nausea. After a long moment of breathing against the rubble, she managed to look down.

Her entire arm was a patchwork of bloodied, scorched flesh. The edges of the hit smoldered against her skin, sleeve still partially alight.

"Senator!" the clone called to her.

"I'm," Padme stopped, swallowing against her rising gorge. She started again, leveling a determined look his way. "I'm fine. Throw me the detonator."

The clone managed to look skeptical despite his helmet, but he threw her the thermal detonator regardless. Padme caught it with her off, uninjured hand and pressed it into the battle droids hands. Her stomach clenched as the droid once again rose, this time with death in its hands.

But it didn't speak. Didn't give any of those little, annoying gestures that bespoke the callous almost-intelligence of a real battle droid. Jabitha still controlled it.

"What now?" Jabitha asked.

"Now you walk that droid as far into the battle droid battalion as you can and you blow them to pieces," Padme said with force.

The droid limped away and Padme watched it go. Red bolts sizzled through the air around it, past the line of clones that parted to let it throw. She swallowed deeply. She could only hope this worked.

She pressed her head back down, this time against her good wrist. She licked her lips and concentrated, pushing away pain, as she moved her burned left arm to key her comlink.

"Obi-Wan?"

An explosion shook the dome and her clone commander was at her side in the blink of an eye, hauling her up from the floor and all but throwing her over his shoulder to get behind what little cover there was. Fire burned an orange halo into her vision, peaking near the clones and shuddering as the shockwave passed over them.

"Not a bright idea, Senator," her commander said as he put her down. He removed his helmet, giving her a serious look as he knocked on his armor pointedly. "Going into battle unprotected."

She tilted her head to the side, managing a weary smile.

"Doesn't come in my size. But I'll have my tailor look into it."

"I hope that you don't, my lady."

Whatever his hopes, Padme had a feeling she would be seeing more of these fights. In the very near future, if Anakin had his way.

Padme's comlink, half forgotten, crackled to life.

"We've made lift off. I think we are on little more than clean up duty, however."

Padme shared a look with the clone. That seemed impossible. But down the hall, she could hear whooping and cheering from the clones. One of them cast a look back at them.

"Captain Rex! Come take a look," he called.

Carefully, Padme and Rex made their way over.

Jabitha had done her work well. Droid pieces smoldered on the floor. A gaping hole had been blown in the wall – Padme hadn't realized they were so close to the edge of the dome – and a gust of wet, salty air blew past her, stinging her face. Her arm was too numb by now for it to make a difference, which she knew was a very bad sign. Peering down, she could see two battle droids clinging to the edge of the building, no doubt chattering inanely to each other.

But in the air, across the dark sky, unfamiliar wedge shaped ships were engaging a handful of Trade Federation control ships. The rest had already fled.

She sighed, leaning heavily against the wall. It seemed that they had won.

For now.

The remaining Trade Federation ships pulled into high orbit. Padme watched their silhouettes fade into the clouds. Squinting, she could make out faint sparks that gleamed through the cloud cover – they'd jumped to hyperspace. The Kaminoan ships hung steadily in the sky, spreading out in a formation to circle Tipoca City. Only one broke from that – Obi-Wan's, no doubt – ascending to pursue any stragglers, give the Emancipator any necessary back up.

Padme watched for many long moments, losing track of time in her haze of exhaustion and pain.

Her comlink beeped at her. The voice on the other end was surprising.

"We're clear," Jabitha said. She sounded smug.

"Yes," Obi-Wan cut in. He sounded quite disturbed and Padme realized that Jabitha must have overridden all the fleet and city communication. She shot a look to Rex and he looked equally rattled; and he didn't even know that Jabitha was a ship. "Thank you. Anakin, Senator, I suggest you protect the city in case any of the ships return. Give any aid you can to the Kaminoans. I will survey the system for further threats."

"Take Dooku with you," Anakin said harshly. And from his tone, Padme didn't think he meant 'as backup.'

Obi-Wan's side of the line was silent. Padme could imagine that, even with the distance of space between then, Anakin and Obi-Wan were arguing in the Force. But Anakin did not need for Obi-Wan to relent.

"On it, Ani," Jabitha replied.

Padme had to hope Jabitha would keep Dooku in line.

"My lady," Rex said. He fixed a look on her and gestured to her arm. "Not going to help anyone in that condition. You need to go to the medbay."

A clone kicked a droid's head down the hall. She could hear the men jostling each other, in good spirits now that the battle was over. Out the ragged hole in the side of the city, rain began to fall again. It plastered her sweaty hair down. Padme nodded without thinking, watching a mismatched set of snubfighters make their way to the city's landing platforms.

Rex put a careful, guiding hand on her shoulder, making to turn her around.

And she jerked back to herself.

"No," she said, frowning up at him. "Not yet, at least."

"Senator..."

Padme twisted her mouth in a semblance of a smile, eyebrows raised.

"I'll make more of an impression this way. Take me to the communications center. The Senate deserves to see what they've let the Trade Federation do."

Rex pulled a face, but nonetheless guided her down several levels of wreckage and celebrating clones – briefly checking in with the commanders of each group – to a vast, featureless room. A platform hung in the center and Padme peered over the edge of the bridge curiously, thinking for a moment this may merely be another hub of clone training. There was nothing below but a vast drop that made Padme think of Naboo's own architecture. Rex glared at the controls once they were in the central platform, clearly uncertain what exactly did what.

Padme suspected that she didn't really need to know.

"Jabitha?" she called. It was eerie how quickly she was coming to rely on the droid-ship intelligence, eerier still for how natural it felt. "Do you have a fix on my location?"

"Of course, my lady."

She's picking up the affectations of those around her, Padme thought with amusement.

"Then I need you to help me send a message. Broadcast it back to Coruscant, boosting the signal as well as you can. I want everyone to see this."

"Sure!" Jabitha sounded quite happy to have this task. Her confidence had built quickly, though Padme presumed this was an easier task than meddling with droid control ships.

The communications control panel hummed to life under Padme's hands, though they remained implacably featureless. She ran her fingers across the smooth surface, wondering at how they worked.

"Don't... don't do that," Jabitha said and Padme pulled her hand back.

The chilly white of the room's curved walls faded into a starscape and a holo sprang to life just above the surface. Distant cities where beings moved about their daily business. Padme's eyes locked on one of them, dusty with twin suns burning in the sky, before searching for her own home world. The palace of Theed's green roof was prominent, but it was nighttime there and her citizens were mostly abed.

Straight ahead of her, rather than a holo of the Senate or the Temple on Coruscant, Jabitha instead displayed life in a hanging city on Cato Nemoidia.

Perfect, Padme thought, baring her teeth in a grim smile.

"Citizens of the Republic," Padme began. She squared her shoulders, injury on full display though she would not let it bow her. "You may recall who I am from my speech days previous, but if you do not, let me introduce myself again. I am Senator Padme Amidala of Naboo. I was Queen during the unlawful blockade and invasion of my home world ten years ago, a crime committed by the Trade Federation under the auspices of Viceroy Nute Gunray.

"I am committed to peace in the galaxy and mere days ago, Chancellor Palpatine gave me leave from the Senate to negotiate with Anakin Skywalker of the Free Worlds in the hope of bartering a long lasting peace between his sovereign worlds and the Republic. Indeed, my goal was to bring him into the Republic itself and so ensure that it is never necessary for the Republic to take up arms or create a military.

"The Trade Federation," Padme dropped her voice low, a civilized snarl emphasized by the dark anger in her eyes, "had other intentions. Rather than await my failure or success, rather than allow the Military Creation Act to come to the Senate floor for a straight up or down vote, they chose the course of sabotage and war. I stand before you in the capital city of a world called Kamino, having barely survived assault by the Trade Federation. Again.

"In the days and weeks to come, a story of conspiracy will unfold. I know this. I do not yet have all the answers, but if I have learned one thing from my own trials, it is that I cannot keep anything from the people of the Republic. When I hold back, others suffer by the lies that venal men like Gunray spin from them. Despite what you believe, Viceroy, I do understand the failings of bureaucracy. I saw you exploit them to avoid punishment for your crimes against my people. Yet I do believe in the Republic and I do believe in democracy. That is why I present the truth of what I know now to the people of the galaxy: I survived your attack – Kamino survived – because this world has built an army. Indeed, it was commissioned ten years ago by the Jedi Order and paid for by the Senate.

"To me, this is clear evidence of treason. The Trade Federation made war not on Anakin Skywalker or the Free Worlds of the Outer Rim, but on the Republic itself, killing soldiers in the employ of the Republic. This time, I will see to it that you face charges of war crimes, Gunray.

"And remember, the last time you acted against my people," Padme said fiercely. She was aware this was not diplomatic. Aware it was impolitic at best. "It ended with my blaster in your face."

* * *

Obi-Wan returned to Tipoca City with Dooku in tow. That really wasn't what Anakin had meant, and he assumed that Obi-Wan merely hadn't had the opportunity to space the old man.

Anakin gritted his teeth, arms crossed, face lashed by rain. He was too tired to repel the water droplets and Padme wasn't here to see that trick anyway. Anxiety gnawed at him. He'd caught her speech over the comms, nearly crashing into the roiling oceans at the sound of her in pain. It was a good thing his fighter didn't have holo capabilities. That would have undone him altogether.

She had been confined to the medbay, he knew that much. Something about blaster burns.

Anakin stewed as he watched Obi-Wan's ship power down for a full landing. He tucked his hands into his elbows – missing the long sleeves he once wore as a Jedi. He restrained the urge to pace only because the landing platform was so kriffing slippery.

"My, you appear to be in a temper," Dooku said calmly as he strode from Obi-Wan's ship – an odd, ugly troop transport of questionable space worthiness. Dooku shielded himself from the rain without a gesture; he simply walked in between the rain drops.

"I don't appreciate being lied to," Anakin growled. His boots were saturated with water, squelching as he stalked toward Dooku. He had never thought he could ever hate rain, but Kamino working to change that. "Or being set up."

Dooku raised his eyebrows.

"Oh?"

Swearing aloud, Anakin clocked the old man with a right hook. He had just enough time to feel a mix of satisfaction and surprise before Dooku seized his wrist, twisting it behind Anakin's back to bring him to his knees. Anakin wheezed out a painful breath, sparks lighting behind his eyes. Dooku was wrenching his injured shoulder.

When Dooku released him, Anakin shot a nasty look to Obi-Wan; rather than helping, he chose to shade his eyes in embarrassment. At least he was soaked too, Anakin thought angrily.

His boots slipped as he pulled himself back upright and Anakin swiped the water from his face, glaring at Dooku.

He jabbed a finger at the old man.

"You brought us here, into a trap. Funny, all that advice from you on how to avoid a Jedi trap. You just wanted to spring your own, didn't you?"

Dooku surveyed Anakin calmly, a curl to his lip.

"That the Senator's rather pathetic pact with the Chancellor and the Trade Federation was broken was unfortunate – but hardly surprising. She was naïve to believe that they would give her the time to stop our quest to bring freedom to the Outer Rim. Yet, as I am the one who guided you to the army that won the day, I hardly see why I am the one bearing the brunt of your anger."

Anakin shook his head.

"You jumped us here," Anakin snapped. "And they met us here. How in blazes do you explain how the Trade Federation knew this planet even existed?"

Dooku raised his eyebrows, directing a look to Obi-Wan.

"I expect they did not. But they were crafty enough to track our Jedi friend and the Senator to Tatooine. It would not be so hard to track them here."

"I do not believe there was a tracking device on the Arcadia," Obi-Wan said. He held Dooku's gaze with surprising hostility before admitting reluctantly, "However, I do know an assassin was aboard. He – or she, I believe – loosed poisonous creatures on the ship in hopes they would kill the Senator."

Anakin felt his stomach twist.

It was possible. He knew the galactic space routes. He knew the jump times, the stars and gravity wells and black hole clusters that had to be navigated around, but even he had no idea at all where Kamino was. If it was closer to Tatooine than Cato Nemoidia – and he didn't even know if that was where their fleet had massed. For all Anakin knew, the Trade Federation had purse worlds far closer to Kamino and had prepared a fleet to jump out at a moment's notice.

"Clever," Obi-Wan said quietly. He rubbed his finger across his mustache, apparently coming to the same conclusion as Anakin.

"If you think I am fool enough to lead you to an army," Dooku intoned sourly, "simply to kill you, I think you underestimate my intelligence and overestimate my flare for the dramatic."

Anakin shared a look with Obi-Wan. The latter point seemed nearly impossible.

"Fine," Anakin said eventually. Obi-Wan's presence in the Force shivered with dismay and Anakin pushed at him irritably. He wasn't saying he believed Dooku, but that didn't mean he believed Obi-Wan either. "So, what exactly was your plan for the army?"

Dooku's eyes gleamed.

"I intended that we use them. Fitting, isn't it, to use an army of slaves, created by the Republic, to free all those the Republic allows to remain in chains?"

Anakin pushed his wet hair from his eyes, jaw clenched.

"And what if the clones say no?"

Dooku chuckled.

"They won't."

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan exclaimed. He threw a hand in Dooku's direction, as if that statement alone proved everything he had said. It didn't exactly glow with sentiment.

Anakin just shook his head. He was tired and cold and wet and he absolutely did not need these two vying for his attention. He turned on his heel, stalking to the doors of the city.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan called again. He jogged to catch up and Anakin cast a look over his shoulder, happy to see Dooku striding at a more sedate, dignified pace far behind the two of them. Anakin didn't stop until he and Obi-Wan we were away and for all his exhaustion, he felt a thrum of energy just being in his former master's presence.

He didn't know if it was good or bad, but the Force heaved around him, full of unknown futures and a clear, bright thread that led him directly back to Obi-Wan. He absolutely ached to feel it and tried to quell the urge to embrace Obi-Wan, check to make sure he was okay after the long battle.

Anakin swallowed deeply and leaned against the too white wall, arms crossed as he dripped on the floor. He tried to get his mental defenses back in order, but it had been too long, and he knew his emotions were bleeding across to Obi-Wan.

Well, fine. Obi-Wan had never enjoyed that and maybe it would be punishment enough for him.

"You don't honestly believe that, do you?" Obi-Wan asked. He looked every inch the Jedi, despite his soaked robes and plastered down hair. His eyes were luminous yet doubtful as he looked up at Anakin.

"He hasn't lied to me yet," Anakin said.

Obi-Wan took that as the intended insult and huffed aloud.

"I hardly lied to you, Anakin."

Anakin raised his eyebrows. If Owen were there, he probably could have just pointed to his leg.

"And that is beside the point. There are far too many coincidences here and I do have evidence that Dooku is the apprentice of a Sith Lord. If you would simply let me, I could show it to you and resolve this entire matter."

"And then what?" Anakin asked.

Dooku was irrelevant. If he was treacherous, yeah, okay, Anakin would have to deal with that and Obi-Wan would admittedly be handy there, since he was the Sith killer and all. But after that? What difference at all did that make? Nal Hutta awaited and then dozens of worlds after that.

On Tatooine, Obi-Wan had assumed their mission would end and they would return as Master and Padawan. On Nar Shadda, he thought he could trick Anakin into handing his war off to a bunch of smugglers and assassins. On Zygerria, he believed he could undermine Anakin, stop him in his tracks, drag him back to the Temple by Force.

Anakin was strangely curious what Obi-Wan thought he was doing this time.

Obi-Wan wetted his lips.

"I don't know," he said softly.

It was a good thing Anakin was already leaning against the wall. He frowned, ducking his head to catch Obi-Wan's gaze.

"You what?"

"Anakin," Obi-Wan sighed in annoyance. He tucked his hands into his wet sleeves. "I said it aloud, that should be enough for you. I can't say what will happen next, but I wish to help you. I believe that you are the Chosen One and yes, I believe that your place is among the Jedi, but I realize that I cannot force you to do anything. And I shall not try."

Anakin blinked rapidly.

"That's new."

"It is not," Obi-Wan said crossly.

Anakin felt a faint smile on his face. He was simply worn out, he told himself. That was why it was so hard to remember his anger at Obi-Wan, to remember the flames of the palace on Zygerria, to remember the choice of certain death or returning once more to the Temple – and how easy it had been to make.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan began softly. "I feel there is much we should discuss. Not merely about Dooku or the Senator's offer, but about us."

He said it with an ease that shocked Anakin. There had been a time when the idea of Obi-Wan speaking of his feelings, or his relationship to Anakin, had been enough to stop them both in their tracks. It was nearly unthinkable.

Anakin found himself nodding.

"Perhaps Taun We will be kind enough to find quarters for us all. I would surely like to be dry again some time today. And then we can talk further."

"That's a lot of trust you're showing me, Master," Anakin said. He bit his tongue as soon as he realized the words were past his lips, cursing himself. He had never planned to ever call another being that, and yet here he was, falling so easily into old habits. But he'd been away from the Jedi as long as he'd been with them. He should have overcome this by now.

He should have forgotten.

Scrambling to recover, Anakin crossed his arms, eyebrow raised as if in a challenge. Obi-Wan usually did not like it when the unspoken currents of their relationship were verbalized so bluntly.

"I realize," Obi-Wan said with humor. "Yet, I do not think you will flee the planet just yet. Not with Padme here."

Anakin glared back at him, stung. He hadn't actually expected Obi-Wan to play that game with him, let alone win it. He stewed silently as they walked the long, white corridors, eventually finding their hosts.

Taun We did indeed have quarters for them all – thankfully separate, although down the same long corridor. If they were all alike, it seemed that she had chosen to thank them all with very large, extravagant apartments that were nonetheless entirely blank of decoration and seamlessly white in the fashion that was apparently typical of Kamino. Oddly, Anakin felt more comfortable with that than he did in the ridiculous Mandalorian style captain's suite back on the Emancipator.

Anakin showered quickly, loathe to spend even more time wet, and toweled dry. He lay on his bed as he waited for the laundry unit to finish drying his clothes, eyes closed as he tried to imagine himself back on Tatooine. He'd spent so many afternoons basking on the warm sand, under a shade. Beru always joked that he was indulging his inner kryat and if he kept it up, one day she'd find a fully grown dragon on her doorstep.

A grouchy one, he'd told her once. Especially if she kept interrupting his naps.

He could barely admit to even himself that he didn't sleep during those times. He meditated.

Anakin pulled his stiff, warm clothes back on. He could feel Obi-Wan just beyond the door and he steadied himself with thoughts of Tatooine's heat, Beru's smile and Owen's gruff laughter. He couldn't imagine returning to the Temple.

He refused to.

Hand clenched at his side, Anakin flicked his other fingers at the door to open it.

Obi-Wan walked in, hands hidden in his sleeves, a cautiously optimistic expression on his face. Anakin backed away awkwardly, unwilling to sit and now wishing he'd been intelligent enough to avoid Obi-Wan as he had originally intended when he accepted the proposed negotiations.

"Feels better, doesn't it?"

Anakin watched Obi-Wan warily. At least the man seemed as uncomfortable as Anakin himself, though his sardonic expression did much to hide it. Anakin still knew the signs well enough, the posture and the twitch of Obi-Wan's fingers, wishing to give into a nervous tic and yet fighting it equally hard.

"Yeah," Anakin said after a beat, almost forgetting the question.

Obi-Wan sighed.

"Anakin, it does not need to be this way. Padme has had her chance to make her case with you." Anakin's mind flashed to Padme on the Emancipator, pressing her against the bulkhead with a kiss. That probably wasn't what Obi-Wan meant. "And I merely wish to have my own."

Really. It probably wasn't.

Anakin clamped down on those memories as well as he could, hoping that nothing seeped through to Obi-Wan. He didn't feel Obi-Wan's mind questing along their old bond, so he assumed he had been successful. Especially since Obi-Wan looked neither horrified nor embarrassed.

"Alright, take a chance."

Obi-Wan paced one across the length of the very large sitting room, giving in to his own nerves for the moment, before a forced calm settled over him He found one of the controls in the wall and oval chairs descended from the ceiling. If he was at all surprised by their appearance, he did not let on. Anakin was just glad the bed didn't have that design. Obi-Wan folded himself comfortably into one of the chairs and gestured for Anakin to take the other.

Obstinately, Anakin refused; Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

Rather than speak of returning to the Temple, Obi-Wan took a very different tack.

"I believe Dooku to be a Sith Lord," he said bluntly. "We are entangled in an elaborate plot and we must work together to salvage your mission and prevent the Sith from rising to power in the galaxy."

Anakin tried not to reel. He could feel the sincerity all but bleeding from Obi-Wan, the ferocious belief that he hid behind placid eyes.

"You think we can do that?" Anakin asked skeptically.

A sad, half smile found its way onto Obi-Wan's face, because no, Anakin wasn't actually that worried about whether Dooku was a Sith Lord or if his mission was in danger. He really and truly wondered if he and Obi-Wan could work together to any ends after everything that had passed between them.

"I feel this battle went rather well," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin snorted.

"With me in the sky and you doing mop up later, sure. If you call that working together, then we do." He shook his head. "Why do you think Dooku is a Sith?"

And why does that matter? Anakin had seen Darth Maul, feral grin and red blade that cut down the Master he sometimes still wished he'd had, but in the years since he left the Order, his ideas about the Sith had decayed. They were nearly a dead philosophy, barely even a threat, and their history struck him as an exaggerated fairy tale. He'd seen terrible things done in the galaxy by very normal beings; the worst, he thought, by the Jedi, through their inaction. Why did there need to be a diabolical order of Dark Siders out there to explain the misery of the galaxy?

"I intercepted a transmission a year ago from Dooku to the Sith Lord controlling Darth Maul during the Naboo Crisis. I can play it for you, but believe me that I do not make such an accusation lightly."

Anakin broke into a smile, reading between the lines.

"Council didn't believe you, did they?"

It hardly seemed possible, but Obi-Wan's posture stiffened further. He reached into his robes to pull out a holoprojector but Anakin waved him off. He knew Obi-Wan too well to be as dismissive as the Council was. Besides, he had no particular affection for the grand-masters of his Jedi lineage.

"You said you wanted to talk about us," Anakin reminded Obi-Wan. If the man had the chance, he would remain on topics like the Sith forever, circling but never landing on his point about Anakin and himself.

"I have not taken a Padawan," Obi-Wan said with some difficulty. He looked to the blank wall. "The Council wishes me to."

Anakin felt a dull ache throb around his heart at the words.

Obi-Wan looked around the room as if surveying its infinite beauty, taking in each white and featureless wall in turn. Eventually, even he could stall no longer, looking at Anakin directly.

"They say I have an unreasonable attachment to you and I agree. I could never replace you, Anakin. I do not want to."

The anger Anakin thought would come did not and his mouth went dry as he stared back at Obi-Wan. There were so many reasons he couldn't – the dozen Free Worlds, his loyal fleet, his plans for Nal Hutta, Beru and Owen and the idea of a home, Padme – but all he could think of right now was that he'd never believed Obi-Wan wanted him at his side, he'd spent years thinking he was nothing more than a resented obligation, and now Obi-Wan was saying the one thing he'd truly wanted to hear as a child.

And he couldn't even say the words had come too late.

"I –" Anakin cut himself off, not trusting himself to speak.

"But first there is the Sith," Obi-Wan said brusquely. He looked away and then back, his expression far more the Jedi Master Anakin was familiar with now that he spoke of business. "And the clone army."

For once, Anakin felt settled by the distraction of a mission and not at all upset to leave behind a discussion of feelings.

"I meant it. I'm going to free them," Anakin said. It was so much easier to set himself in opposition to Obi-Wan than admit how much he wanted to hear him say it again, that he wanted Anakin at his side.

Obi-Wan nodded, his eyes clear; he probably even read that intention from Anakin in the Force. Anakin swallowed deeply, pulling his shields tighter and coiled those feelings deep inside. He wouldn't release them, he would never release them, but he didn't need to think about them right now.

"And I believe you, but I do feel we need to act with some circumspection. We do not know what the clones have been programmed to do – whom they are loyal to – or how they would react if they were freed. They may not even understand the concept of freedom."

Anakin shuddered at the thought, once more feeling nauseous. He'd fought slavers who beat and abused their slaves until they had no hope at all, freed beings who were so terrified of the consequences of leaving their masters that he'd had to drag them to safety by force. But they'd all been capable, eventually, of embracing freedom.

"That's … vile."

Obi-Wan nodded blithely.

"Indeed. Now, I think we shall need to see Lama Su's records if we wish to get to the bottom of this. It shouldn't be a difficulty to convince them at this point, given that their own safety is at risk. We will need to contact the Council at once to see if there are any records on their side."

Anakin felt a sudden snap of anger, felt it knot the Force. Obi-Wan looked at him in surprise, the purposeful calm in his gray eyes disappearing in a second, replaced once more by uncertainty and caution.

"The Council?" Anakin asked, voice low.

And Obi-Wan had a point. Master Sifo-Dyas had sat on the Council itself and had been well respected within the Order from what Anakin recalled. He had somehow siphoned funds from the Jedi to Kamino and even if he hadn't kept records of his own actions, there was a good chance that there was some evidence in the Archives. Suspicious communications logs or the imprint of deleted materials. It was a good lead.

But it was also one that reminded Anakin very distinctly of who had commissioned the clone army. For all Obi-Wan's talk of the Sith and Dooku, it had not been them that Lama Su and Taun We awaited. It was Jedi.

"I suspect they will be as surprised as we to find this army was commissioned in their name," Obi-Wan said carefully. "I doubt they know anything of it."

"And if they do? Don't you think they'll want to keep them?" Anakin challenged.

Obi-Wan knew the dangerous ground he was treading on.

"They will advise caution. As I do."

Anakin glared. That wasn't good enough. Not even close.

"I am not going to let them manufacture people," he snapped, "just to die!"

"Anakin, don't be hasty. There is no war yet."

Anakin threw a hand out, unerringly gesturing to the blown out exterior wall of the city.

"I think we've already got one! You heard Padme's speech as well as I did. She's not going to back down – I know I'm not going to – and Nute Gunray has never been smart enough to! Where does that leave the clones, Obi-Wan? Are you just going to let the Republic claim them, send them to invade the Free Worlds so Gunray doesn't have to buy new droids?"

Obi-Wan remained unmoved.

"As you say, Gunray does have droids, so I hardly think the Republic will need to indulge him by granting him a new army. And again, the clones are under Jedi jurisdiction –"

"So let them go," Anakin interrupted.

"Anakin!"

"Let them go! Free them before the Council or the Senate has time to overthink it! Before they talk themselves into accepting this abomination!" Anakin lowered his voice, jaw clenched. "Before you do."

Obi-Wan was truly tempted. Anakin could feel it in the Force and he did his best, pulling at Obi-Wan with all the righteous anger he could muster. And then Obi-Wan shuttered his presence, locked himself away in complacent, intractable Jedi calm and Anakin nearly growled aloud in frustration.

As it was, he stalked to a wall, punching out at it. He leaned forward on his knuckles, unable to face Obi-Wan. He pressed his forehead to the wall.

"Obi-Wan, please," he entreated.

"I cannot." Anakin struck out again – this time at the controls to the door. He was half way down the hall before he heard Obi-Wan complete his thought, voice faint and weary, "It's not the Jedi way."

Anakin paced the halls of the Tipoca City aimlessly until he was dizzy with his own exhaustion and anger. He stopped and looked up at one of the smoke stained walls, fingers knotted in the long sleeves of his spacer's shirt.

He was foolish to expect anything from Obi-Wan, after all this time. He'd more than proven that he would never meet Anakin on his terms, never care about Anakin's priorities. For all that he claimed to be driven to protect Anakin, that he had supposedly compromised himself in that, he would never ask the Jedi to compromise.

As if they hadn't already.

Anakin clenched his jaw in disgust. At least there was one person who would understand. He barely even needed to concentrate to find Padme's light in the Force – in one of the medbays. His breath caught as he remembered the pain in her voice as she declaimed the Trade Federation and, he thought, the Jedi.

He stalked his way to the small medbay she was in, slamming his hand onto the door controls , angry at the leisurely way they opened. He balled his hands into fists at his side as he looked into the blindingly white infirmary and then consciously relaxed them as Padme looked to him.

"What happened?" she asked.

He exhaled a long, slow breath. She was completely alone in the medbay – anger again threatened to overtake him because he knew clones had been injured – hip hitched up on a bed. Her scorched shirt had been torn away on the sleeve, arm cared for. Anakin's eyes lingered, fear welling up.

"Are you –?"

She held up her other hand, forestalling the question.

"It's already mending," she told him. Stiffly, he nodded, accepting that at face value. He'd seen far worse burns in the field – and sustained them, as well. Already, color had returned to her cheeks, cleaned of sweat and ash. The bacta was at work underneath her bandages and soon she'd bee completely healed. As well, at some point she'd had the time to repin her hair into a neat, intricate hair style, and that was likely a two handed activity. As far as Anakin knew. Padme caught his eyes as they returned to her face, her expression soft with concern as she entreated again, "What happened?"

"Obi-Wan," Anakin said, finally, spitting the name out. Anakin felt his mouth twist and he pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to control the urge to smash something. "He wants to keep the clones."

Padme's eyes widened in shock.

"He what?"

"I never – He's a slaver now. _E chut a_! The Jedi are slavers."

Padme watched him carefully before holding her good hand out to him. He stared at it for a long moment, wondering what she wanted from him. When he took it, she tugged in him close, arm around his back in a half-embrace. She pressed her face to his shoulder and he gulped in a breath, not quite sure what to do with himself. Before he could decide, she broke the embrace, sliding her hand to his arms to hold him at a distance as she looked up at him seriously.

"We won't let that happen, Ani," she told him. Her brown eyes were sincere, outrage oddly absent. "I'm sure we can talk Obi-Wan around."

Anakin had the distinct feeling that she was handling him, but he couldn't pinpoint how. He nodded and the corner of Padme's mouth lifted in a smile.

"You're alive. We made it through. Relax."

Anakin felt his face break into a grin.

She had made it, fighting through hundreds of droids and coming out with an injury already healing, and now she was here in his arms, looking up at him with bright eyes he remembered so vividly in his dreams but had honestly thought he would never see again.

Padme put both hands on the sides of his face, holding him in place as she leaned up to kiss him and Anakin made an embarrassingly desperate sound, pushing her back until her hip caught up against the bed again.

"Sorry," he said through the kisses, trailing his mouth to the hinge of her jaw before dragging it back again, opening against Padme's lips to let her tongue inside.

She shuddered against him, breathing heavily when she pulled back. Her cheeks were nicely flushed, Anakin noted with pride.

"I love you," he blurted out.

Padme ran her hand over his back, feeling his muscles beneath the thin material of his shirt. She hopped to sit on the medbay bed and drew him close to stand between her parted legs. He looked down at her unsurely, wondering if he'd said the wrong thing, if she'd heard him.

But then she looked up at him, eyes skittering to the side for a brief moment before locking again on his.

"I think I do too," she whispered, like it was the most inconceivable, amazing thing.

And, Anakin decided, it actually was.

He reached for her again for another kiss, but she gave him a quick shake of the head, softened by the smoky look she gave him.

"Boots," she told him.

Anakin stripped them off as quickly as he could before returning to her. Padme skimmed her fingers under his shirt, pushing up the hem. He made to pull it off entirely when she leaned forward, breath hot against his skin, and he jolted to a stop. Her mouth was wet against his stomach, sucking and biting a line across overheated flesh.

"I – Padme," he said urgently. She turned a quick grin up at him before dipping her head lower, nuzzling his sudden hardness. Anakin swallowed down a choking sound, barely managing to ask, "Are you sure?"

Padme shifted away from him and Anakin felt the loss keenly. She lifted her bandaged arm easily, allaying any of Anakin's doubts as she raised both arms to pull her shirt off. Anakin exhaled a slow breath as she unhooked her undergarment, staring at her bare breasts.

"Yes," she said.

He pulled his shirt off quickly and then joined her on the bed, pressing her down on the stark white sheets. She stretched underneath him, settling herself with obvious pleasure. She caught his mouth in a deep kiss, muffling his groan.

Anakin started to move down the length of her body before suddenly sitting back on his heels, looking with shock toward the still open door. Padme followed his gaze, letting out a brief, horrified laugh. He gestured to the controls and the door slid closed. He pressed his forehead between her breasts, trembling with laughter.

Padme's fingers stroked through his hair as he listened to the beat of her heart, the sound of her breathy laugh.

"Can you even imagine?" she asked.

"Always be mindful of your surroundings," Anakin quoted.

He cracked his eyes open, tilting his head to enjoy the view. He kissed the side of her breast and then gave his attention more fully to it, kissing and biting at the nipple, feeling Padme's fingers pull at his hair. He turned to her other breast, giving it equal attention before he slid further down, angling a happy look up at her. Padme's eyes were dark as he hooked his fingers into her pants and undergarment, pulling them down. She raised her hips to help, shimmying out of them and letting Anakin toss them to the side.

Anakin bit his lip as he tried to steady his breathing.

"I," he stopped, eyes searching hers as he tried to think of what to say. How to explain. His past experience hadn't been particularly enjoyable and hadn't included anything he wanted to give to a partner. "I haven't done this part before."

Padme's expression turned sympathetic, hand light on his cheek.

"You don't have to."

"I want to," he said forcefully.

She drew a leg up to give him better access, throwing her head back as she said throatily, "Good. Because I was kidding about that."

He pushed aside all thoughts of Miraj, grinning into Padme's stomach. He kissed a trail down to her hip and then lower, stopping to suck at her thigh. Padme's hand twisted in his hair, urging him toward her wet folds and he pressed his mouth to her eagerly. His feet dangled off the edge of the bed and he had to reach down and palm himself, get some kind of friction, some kind of relief as he licked into Padme.

She groaned, squirming against him, and he reached out in the Force, letting Padme's feelings guide him. It was a heady experience and he we beginning to feel delirious, the swells of her arousal combining with his own.

Anakin pressed fingers into her and Padme clenched around them. He felt her throw her head back, felt himself jerk as she cried out. He panted into her thigh and then did it again, sucking on her clit to make her come for him another time. She cursed, hand slipping from the back of his head to clutch at the sheets ever as her foot slipped on the bed, kicking Anakin off the bed.

Anakin tried to collect himself with something resembling grace on the floor.

Padme peered over the edge of the bed, her ruined hairstyle falling in sweaty locks in front of her face.

"I look forward to what you'll be able to do," she said, attempting dignity despite her reddened face, "when you have a little more experience.

Anakin licked his lips and stared back at her smugly. She shivered, breathing staccato as she grabbed at him roughly, dragging him forward for a deep, thorough kiss.

"Get back up here," Padme said between kisses, still pulling on him.

Anakin was more than happy to oblige. He removed his remaining clothes before climbing back onto the bed. He settled over her and Padme immediately hooked one leg over his hip, urging him forward. This part he was more familiar with, but that didn't stop him from dropping his head onto her shoulder with a groan as he pushed into her. Padme kissed his temple, fingers stroking up and down his sides as he struggled for control.

"I love you," he mumbled into her skin and she shushed him, rocking her hips up against him to urge him to move.

Anakin felt sweat trickling down the hollow of his back and for a moment, he just couldn't. He could feel everything with vivid clarity, his own painful need and Padme's sensitized arousal and it blurred together, everything at once and entirely overwhelming. He shook, eyes squeezed shut against the Force even though he couldn't let go, not even for a moment.

"Anakin," Padme whispered. Her hand was on his face and he opened his eyes dizzily. "Come back to me."

He nodded shakily, swallowing and focusing on her face as he started to move.

There was no kind of slow build, not what he'd dreamed and fantasized for years. Instead his thrusts were urgent, Padme's movement equally so, her fingernails scoring his back to draw him in closer. Next time, he thought dimly, next time he'd be slower, gentler, but this time he just needed her too much. He came with a cry, feeling her tense and shudder beneath him. He sighed against her, leaning down to kiss her before collapsing next to her.

She is so warm, Anakin thought vaguely. Padme rearranged his limp, heavy limbs, moving him into a more comfortable position and then settling against his chest. Anakin looked down at her fondly and kissed the crown of her head.

He dozed lightly and happily for some time before Padme's touch on his chest woke him.

"Don't stop," he said when her fingers stilled, hand pressed flat against him.

She resumed tracing patterns on his skin and he rumbled a pleased sound in his chest. The Force tugged at him and Anakin opened his eyes to see Padme studying him pensively.

"I don't want you to think I had an ulterior motive," she said after a long moment.

Anakin frowned at her.

"I don't."

That honestly had not occurred to him at all.

A worried smile flickered on her face.

"Good." She kissed him briefly and then pillowed her head on his arm. "But we do need to talk about how this will effect our negotiations."

"I already told you that I'm open to a 'diplomatic relationship'," Anakin said cheekily. "So, looks like we're in one."

Padme's eyes glittered with amusement.

"And I think I'll summarize events in my report that way, but there's more to it than that, Ani. You're the leader of the Free Worlds and the Trade Federation acted in aggression against you. If you join the Republic, you'll have a case against them for war crimes."

Anakin looked at her skeptically.

"The way Naboo did?"

Padme's mouth tightened at the reminder.

"It's better than war," she said eventually.

"I'm not so sure about that. Sometimes you have to fight. Anything else is a compromise. Anything else is just sitting back, letting people die."

He didn't believe for one second that she of all people disagreed. Padme knew better than anyone that just waiting for a political solution led to death and suffering. Sometimes you had to take events into your own hands.

Anakin shook his head, not liking the direction of the conversation. He'd much rather talk about the two of them than the Trade Federation.

"About that diplomatic relationship," he started. He ducked his head, to look into her eyes searchingly. "I think we should make it official."

Padme's eyebrows drew together, expression questioning. Anakin took a calming breath. She hadn't outright called him crazy and she had admitted, in a way, to loving him. So, he thought he had a shot. Anakin ducked his head down, kissing her lightly.

"I think we should get married," he said against her lips.

Padme jerked backwards from him. Anakin felt his heart clench, cold sweeping over him. He tried to smile at her, but couldn't bring himself to pretend he'd been joking.

"That would solve some of our problems, wouldn't it?"

"What? What problems, Anakin? How would getting married prevent a war with the Trade Federation or the Republic? How would it bring peace to the Outer Rim?" she demanded.

It wouldn't.

"And what would the Queen do? If I married the leader of an enemy faction – which you are quickly becoming – I would surely be asked to leave my position."

That didn't sound that bad to Anakin. With Padme at his side, he'd never be tempted back to Coruscant again. The Republic had nothing to offer the Free Worlds; he was absolutely sure of that. But as long as Padme was a Senator of the Republic, he would be drawn back to her.

But he knew better than to say as much to her.

Anakin shrugged one shoulder, jaw tight and stubborn.

"The Jedi," he said, "will finally stop."

Padme glared at him. She withdrew her hands from him and Anakin had to stop himself from wincing, losing that contact.

"This is about more than the Jedi Order."

Anakin wasn't convinced. Luminara baited him with information about the Hutt conclave; Dooku, a former Jedi, joined his forces with the offer of ships and soldiers before guiding him directly to a clone army; Padme was dispatched to 'negotiate' with none other than Obi-Wan at her side. The Chancellor was a fool if he thought the Jedi weren't pulling all the strings, shaping events to their whims. Anakin wasn't even sure he believed they were at odds, any of them.

Shaking his head, Anakin slid off the bed. He cast around the room, looking for his trousers, back stiff as he stalked across the medbay to find them.

"I'm not sure I believe you," he said eventually.

"Clearly."

Anakin leveled a dark look back at Padme. She had sat up on the bed, sheet drawn up to cover her, but still looking wonderfully disheveled.

"I meant," he snapped, "about your motives."


	9. Chapter 9

_One Year Ago_

The shape of Anakin's terrible plan was quite plain to Obi-Wan.

"Ah, finally my dearest has arrived," Queen Miraj Scintel said.

She stood on a palace balcony, overlooking a tightly secured plaza in front of the ziggurat. Obi-Wan, through his new friend Jeros, had rated an invitation to the ceremony, but watched the holo display flickering against the wall rather than looking up at her. His arms were crossed, frown fixed on his face.

Scintel held out a hand and Anakin stepped forward, taking her hand and bowing deeply with proper Jedi manners, his forehead touched to her knuckles. The Queen was a slim beauty, dripping with jewels and cruelty, teeth bared as she watched Anakin through half lidded eyes.

"I present to the people of Zygerria, my betrothed, Anakin Skywalker," Scintel's eyes were hard, her voice edged with unpleasant humor, "formerly of the Free Worlds."

There was murmuring among the crowd, approval. They appeared to think Anakin was well matched to their Queen, even if he was a human outlander. Or perhaps they merely approved of the wedding gift he had brought.

"Currently," Anakin contradicted.

Scintel stroked her hand down his chest. He wore the traditional armor of the Zygerrian soldiers, yet steeled himself against the touch. Obi-Wan glanced to the side, measuring the reactions of those around him. Perhaps he was seeing things. No one else appeared to notice Anakin's reaction.

"Of course, darling. Irony is a valuable commodity."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Anakin nodded to her, a wide, appreciative smile on his face. It didn't touch his eyes.

Obi-Wan restrained himself from reaching out in the Force, alerting Anakin to his presence. He could not say if that touch would come as a comfort to Anakin right now. It would certainly be a distraction to him, and indulgent only of Obi-Wan's own feelings.

Anakin turned to survey what would soon become his kingdom, his posture commanding, an arrogant set to his mouth. Perhaps it was only Obi-Wan who could see how ill fitting the armor was, how it hung on his gangly frame. His high cheekbones were even more defined than the last time Obi-Wan had seen him, jaw turning chiseled, though there was a touch of baby fat still. It was a relief to see, in a way. He looked good, though it was terrible to think so. But despite the anxiety and horror that gnawed at Obi-Wan, he could see easily the change the last two years had wrought on his former Padawan. He looked proud and handsome rather than gaunt with exhaustion as he had been on Nar Shadda.

Yet Obi-Wan did not think he imagined the lingering shadows haunting Anakin's eyes. This would not be an easy role for him to play, no matter how brazen his plan, how confident his demeanor.

Anakin was re-enslaving his own people and himself, and Obi-Wan had to wonder if his Padawan had at all thought out how difficult it would be to free them a second time.

In the city bazaar, Obi-Wan witnessed first hand the methods of subjugation the Zygerrians employed. Aside from the raw brutality of their electrowhips, they collared their slaves rather than chipping them. And while the devices looked simple enough to unfasten with the Force, Anakin would hardly be able to do that for all the slaves at once.

Obi-Wan wondered how far his crew's trust in him went. Anakin had to behave in a convincing manner, commit to the betrayal in order for Scintel to believe it. If he was too convincing, his own people might lose hope and turn on him before his plan was complete.

He shook his head slowly to himself as he watched Scintel laugh, pushing at Anakin's chest with a possessive hand. On the balcony, they were framed by guards – Scintel's – and two slaves as examples of Anakin's gift. Obi-Wan recognized neither. Though he was loath to see Owen put through further trials, especially given Obi-Wan's own role in the boy's injury on Nar Shadda, he would have been heartened to see him at Anakin's side. Family was a bond that meant much to them that they had gone out of their way to create though they shared no blood, and Obi-Wan had full belief in Owen's loyalty to Anakin.

Instead the slaves were two young women, human, and scantily clad for all that.

"Come, beloved," Scintel said. She laid her hand atop Anakin's, moved into close to tilt her head onto his shoulder. Anakin swallowed deeply, stilling himself so he would not flinch away. "Our kingdom awaits. There is much I wish to show you."

She swept away from the balcony, into the interior of the palace. Obi-Wan stood for a moment, watching as her Prime Minister took her place, rattling off the itinerary of the upcoming festivities for the gathered crowd. And then, turning on his heel, he all but sprinted through the crowd, Force wrapped tightly around himself to deflect attention.

Obi-Wan pressed himself against one of the blue stone walls, watching the royal entourage as they exited the palace, dozens of guards surrounding the Queen and Anakin in an uncovered speeder, slowly marching it to the city below. He watched from his perch on the palace battlement, hands rifling in the belt hidden under his poncho for his compact electrobinoculars.

Leaping gracefully from the palace wall, Obi-Wan ran on silent feet toward the city itself. At the pace the group was moving, he'd likely arrive before they did. He was, unfortunately, curious to see precisely what it was the Queen intended to show Anakin – something shocking, he was sure. Something designed to intimidate him, make him aware that she knew the game he was playing and fully intended to beat him at it.

He put them to his eyes, frowning as the image materialized. Anakin was, thankfully, not in chains now that he was out of public sight, but the Queen had found the time to fit his two slaves with shock collars. Threat enough to keep Anakin in line for the moment – or so the Queen imagined. Obi-Wan was less sure. The nature of Anakin's gambit, if he had thought for even one second, made this and worse necessary. He needed the Queen's trust, needed his people in position, if he was to inflict any damage at all. Surely he knew his people would be in chains once more. Surely.

By the Force, Obi-Wan thought, horror striking him anew. Every world, every slave that he had freed. Offered to her.

His reputation, Obi-Wan knew, was the real gift. The reason Miraj Scintel would accept the gift of a thousand soldiers onto her world, for she wasn't fool enough to believe those slaves were anything of the sort any more. Anakin had become a legend on the Outer Rim – the boy who killed Jabba, the assassin of Nar Shadda, the leader of so many slave revolts on planets he had all but set ablaze. Now he was throwing it away on this mission. Legends didn't survive doubt.

Scintel was betting on that, Obi-Wan was sure. He caught snatches of mocking explanations, carried by the stifling, still air, as he shadowed the group. Scintel was showing Anakin just enough of the city to dishearten him, guiding him away any time he began to ask about security arrangements.

Obi-Wan slipped in with the group at what appeared to be their final destination. The Force had knotted around Scintel, showcasing her sadism, her sense of triumph. This was what she intended to show.

A brood pen.

It was a long stone building, brittle with wear and smelling unpleasantly of sentient life. Obi-Wan pressed his sleeve over his nose, moving ahead of the group as if he was an independent party, here to inspect the merchandise on his own time. He could feel the guards shift their blasters in their hands, eyes on him, but they forbore expelling him from the building. Scintel wanted Anakin to see Zygerria – slaves and buyers.

He knew the instant Anakin recognized him, the Force snapping out out him sharply and then, just as quickly, vanishing. Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly at the feeling. For all that he did not think Anakin intended it, he'd somehow left the Force lesser in that moment, pulled it away, to himself, to where it naturally wanted to flow at all times.

Anakin seethed in the Force, but he made some kind of flirtatious excuse to Scintel. Her laughter rang against the stone walls and she pushed lightly at Anakin.

"Ask, then," she said. Obi-Wan glanced her way to find her keen eyes set on him, shadowed by the poor light of the facility. She smiled at him and he inclined his head, miming respect as well as he could.

Anakin strode over to Obi-Wan, dragging him by the arm into a dimly lit corner at the back of the hall. They were boxed in by two cells, one of which was empty. Obi-Wan watched a muscle twitch in Anakin's jaw as his eyes were drawn, unwillingly, to the occupied cell. A Twi'Lek woman lay in a pile of rags on the floor. For all that Obi-Wan could sense, she was not yet pregnant, but that hardly mitigated the harm of this place.

"What are you doing here?" Anakin hissed once he could finally pull his eyes away. His normally golden complexion was ashen and his hand clenched convulsively on Obi-Wan's arm – the only expression of his disgust and rage he could allow himself right now, though it was nearly overwhelming in the Force.

And under normal circumstances, if those even existed for the two of them, Obi-Wan would have a lecture ready for him. But now it was heartening to feel his own emotions in Anakin, to let Anakin feel what Obi-Wan knew he should not feel for himself.

"I could ask you the same," Obi-Wan said stiffly. He jerked his arm out of Anakin's grasp, glaring up at him. "But unfortunately, I have already deduced your plan."

"If this is your idea of helping, you'd be better off back at the Temple. We all would."

Obi-Wan shook his head.

"Not without you. You're not in too deep, yet. Come with me before this turns into a disaster."

Anakin glared at him.

"I am not the only one at risk," he said, enunciating each word angrily. "I will not abandon my people."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, bringing one hand up to press against his forehead.

"I realize. That was a rash statement. I would not ask you to," he said. He ached when he opened his eyes, looking at Anakin, so proud and headstrong, yet still so young. Obi-Wan made a decision, putting aside all his doubts for the moment. "But surely you will acknowledge that another set of eyes is always helpful."

Anakin pressed his lips together, mouth twisting.

"I don't like this. I did have a plan, you know. You can't just interrupt it!"

"A Jedi's strength is in improvisation. The Force will provide, young one, do not doubt that."

"Fine."

"Excellent. Already our lot has improved," Obi-Wan said lightly. He peered past Anakin to where the Queen awaited. She was looking impatient. "Now, quickly, tell me what I am looking for."

"Not looking, listening. I need to know everything about the slave processing facility on Kadavo - is it complete yet, how many other slaves are there right now."

"Kadavo?" Obi-Wan repeated.

It was a nearby system. Siri had decided to take Ferus there while they awaited Obi-Wan's signal. He wondered if that was the Force at work, guiding her to where she needed to be to fulfill her mission, regardless of Obi-Wan's actions. Or if she had just strolled into unimaginable danger because of Obi-Wan's own selfish recklessness.

"Yeah, it –" Anakin broke off, looking back to Scintel. She held out one hand, the other tapping long, sharpened nails against her hip. "Coming, dearest!"

Anakin cast one look at Obi-Wan before striding back to the Queen's side. She reached up, touching him lightly on the side of his face. He turned into the gesture and leaned down, brushing a kiss over her mouth.

Obi-Wan's stomach turned. Kadavo. He would contact Siri as soon as he could and get Anakin off this miserable planet.

* * *

_Now_

Padme spent a long moment staring up at the ceiling, listening to Anakin's receding footsteps. She pressed her eyes closed, bringing her hand up to her forehead.

This was not at all what she had intended. She had given in to her feelings for him at great cost to them both and now her mission was in tatters. Anger knotted in her stomach, at herself. War loomed, exacerbated by her own rashness, and now she wasn't even sure where she stood with the one person she most needed on her side if there was ever to be peace. Some diplomat she was.

Jaw working, she brushed the thoughts aside. Self-recrimination would not get her anywhere. As passionate and mercurial as Anakin was, there was still a good chance she could right this.

Padme slipped from the bed, picking up her scattered clothes from the floor as she made her way to the fresher, dumping them into a pile on the counter inside as she stepped into the shower. She stood under the spray, unwelcome after so much time soaked on Kamino already, hands curled into fists against the wall.

She could still see the hurt plain on his face, the uncertainty in his blue eyes sharp and honest before they dimmed. She doubted he would wish to speak with her so soon after such an injury to his pride, but she was sure avoiding him would only worsen matters. Anakin would not relish the boundaries Padme intended to put on their relationship, but she did think he would accept them, if she simply spoke to him soon enough.

Stepping from the shower, Padme looked to herself in the mirror. The bandaging still seemed fixed and intact; her arm was a mild, cloudy ache of pain she knew would eventually return in full force, but was currently tamped down by the power of quality analgesics. Her hair was a wet tangle, her eyes bruised and tired.

Her eyes slipped away from the mirror. She could not bring herself to create artifice at the moment. It was too urgent to find Anakin.

She pulled her battle worn clothes back on, dried her hair and tied it back simply. She didn't bother to look again in the mirror before striding purposefully from the medbay.

It was in looking for Anakin that she came across Obi-Wan. His cloak swept the blackened floor as he walked, his eyes distracted in a way that was coming to be quite familiar to Padme. He was searching for something in the Force.

At a guess, she would assume he too was looking for was Anakin. It seemed to be something they always had in common.

Briefly, very briefly, she felt a shiver of delightful warmth, thinking of where Anakin had been not all that long ago, what they had done together. It was easy to imagine the humor, embarrassing though it would have been, in Obi-Wan finding them with that door still open.

But not to find them arguing.

The smile beginning to form on Padme's mouth faded away, half a thought and nothing more.

Obi-Wan's distraction disappeared in an instant and his gray eyes focused on her, incisive and otherworldly.

"Anakin is no longer on Kamino," he said tersely. It occurred to her that she'd never before seen him truly angry, not even when arguing with Anakin. She suppressed the urge to recoil from the sight. "What did you do?"

Padme met his gaze steadily.

"I could ask you the same."

The smile was thin on his lips, colder than she had expected from him.

"Hardly."

Padme narrowed her eyes at him.

"What passed between Anakin and I will remain between us," she said. "It is not your business."

Obi-Wan scoffed.

"Given the nature of my mission, it is very much my business. You have chosen to express your passions at a very poor time, my lady. This is not a distraction we need at this juncture."

"Excuse me?" Padme asked, offended.

"I would advise you not to take emotional advantage of my Padawan."

Shock overtook Padme as she stared at Obi-Wan. His posture was stiff, though he all but vibrated with anger. Displaced, she though distantly. He was angry at Anakin, working off whatever argument had driven Anakin directly into her arms; angry at himself for undermining his own purpose so effectively.

Awareness did not ameliorate the offense.

"You're speaking as if I intended to –" she bit her tongue, stopping the words. As if I intended to fall in love with him.

"To seduce him?" Obi-Wan finished for her.

It would do.

She glared at him, marching forward to poke a finger into his chest.

"He is not your Padawan and I would advise you," she parroted nastily, "not to forget that. Anakin told me of your plans for the clones."

It was an imprecise strike. She was fully aware that Anakin's perceptions about the clones were distorted by his emotions, his righteousness about his cause. What he had relayed to her about Obi-Wan wishing to keep the clones was, at best, an exaggeration. Yet it had upset Anakin enough that he had come to see her; it was entirely likely that their argument had upset Obi-Wan as well.

And no matter his Jedi facade of calm, Obi-Wan hurt any time his former Padawan did. Particularly when he himself was the cause.

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"You are not foolish enough to believe him, so do not pretend otherwise."

"I am pretending nothing. I am reminding you of where you stand. Anakin wishes to be free of the Jedi and yet here you are, chasing him down, trying to drag him back to the Temple. That is how you treat your former Padawan. And what are the clones to you, how are they more than Anakin?"

"Ah, rhetoric. I am not a politician and I don't care for your false parallels," Obi-Wan said. His flicked his fingers dismissively, uninterested in pursuing that line of argument.

Padme shifted on her feet, stepping even closer to Obi-Wan. She did not have the stature to physically intimidate, but by now she was familiar enough with Obi-Wan to know that closeness itself was effective. He was a reserved man by nature and, though comfortable in his own skin, she was perfectly aware that space, closeness, touch were all tools.

He did not back up, but he looked displeased at how near she had come. Padme placed a hand on his arm, squeezing in mock friendship.

"I know you fought and I know that's why he came to me," she said, voice a harsh whisper. "You are driving him further from the Jedi with everything you do."

"My lady, much the same can be said for you and for less pure reasons."

"I don't care if he's a Jedi," she pronounced.

"You should." Obi-Wan reached down, casually flicking her hand away from him. Seriousness pushed all of the ire, all the pettiness out of his expression –fleeting as it had been ugly. He said urgently, "The galaxy needs him."

Padme looked past him, down the broken corridor. A clone trooper was working on a sparking panel. Droids – Kaminoan droids – were cleaning the hall to a bright, disturbing shine once more. She could already feel matters spiraling out of control. This was the first battle, she had all but vowed as much, but there was hope yet. If they could find a way to work together.

She drew her attention back to Obi-Wan, nodding once. Tension and anger had not left her, but she had no proper outlet, argument with Obi-Wan already seeming both futile and ridiculous.

"I know. It needs us all – and not to be at odds."

"Then we are agreed. Now, did he say anything at all about where he was going?" Obi-Wan asked. He frowned, a faint line creasing his brow. "I would not have thought he would leave you. Did something happen on his ship to draw him away?"

Padme shifted awkwardly. A crisis on the Emancipator would be a far better explanation.

"He asked me to marry him."

That drew Obi-Wan's appalled attention.

"He didn't – Of course he did. And then he took your refusal poorly."

Padme wasn't sure why his presumption annoyed her so much. It was insanity. Would have been insanity to say yes to Anakin. But her hand stung and Obi-Wan was looking at her in shock, red mark on his face where Padme had slapped him.

She covered her mouth, hand dropping down only to reach up again, this time tentatively reaching out to his cheek.

"I," Padme stopped. "I don't know what came over me, Obi-Wan. I apologize."

His expression was rueful as he dipped his head, eyes apologetic.

"I am afraid you were justified. I was quite out of line."

Padme studied him for a moment.

"You love him," she said. It was odd to think that a Jedi loved, but she couldn't construe Obi-Wan's relationship to Anakin any other way. To chase a boy across the galaxy, to do it so many times, it could be nothing else. "Don't you?"

Obi-Wan didn't reply, but the bare pain on his face was answer enough.

"Then why don't you just tell me? What happened between you two? Why do you think I am such a danger to him?"

Obi-Wan turned his back to her, but didn't walk away. His shoulders were tense and tendons stood out on his neck. Padme listened to her heartbeat as she waited for him to reply.

"Because love is dangerous to Jedi," Obi-Wan eventually said. It wasn't clear if he meant himself or Anakin. "And whatever he may call himself, Anakin is still a Jedi.

"And because he has been hurt before."

His last words were so quiet that Padme had to strain to hear him.

"Then the rumors are true," she said. She felt irrationally jealous at the thought – the feeling was swiftly replaced by a pang of empathy. For all the bawdy elbowing and laughter that accompanied the rumors of Anakin and the Slaver Queen, Padme was well aware that Zygerria held a host of unpleasant memories for him. A seduction it had not been. Re-enslavement, very nearly.

"Unfortunately."

"The reports were redacted," she prompted.

Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder.

"For good reason. But the answer to your question is yes. She was dead well before the palace burned."

Padme felt a chill sweep over her. Was it worse to believe Anakin did that – or Obi-Wan to protect him?

"She was no innocent, my lady. Trust me."

Padme still had not found her voice, so she simply nodded. Obi-Wan had already looked away. She watched him, trusting in the Force that he would feel it and know. Perhaps Anakin would as well.

"On a far less dire note," Obi-Wan said, "I do need to find my blasted Padawan. So if you'll excuse me..."

"There is little enough excuse for you, Obi-Wan," Dooku put in. Padme whirled on her feet, disturbed that she had not heard him approach. His cape swirled dramatically as he strode toward them, a snide smile on his lips. "Or else you would already realize where Skywalker has gone."

"He's on his ship," Padme said, looking between the two men.

Obi-Wan had that distant expression again, head tilted to the side. He went ashen quite suddenly.

Dooku gave a low chuff of laughter.

"Indeed."

"He's … gone," Obi-Wan whispered.

"Back to Tatooine, back to his ill formed plan to fall directly into a Jedi trap," Dooku said. "And without any of us along to make the difference."

"You have already done much to make a difference," Padme replied. She put her hands behind her back, clasping them tightly as she looked up at him. She did not wear the clothes of a Senator, but she hardly needed to. "And without a single word as to why."

"Is it not clear enough? With these troops, the Free Worlds will dominate the Outer Rim completely! The Republic itself will bow and, finally, they will have to concede to reform."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes; Padme restrained the same urge. Dooku would hardly tell them anything of use, nothing but half truths and lies that barely even held Padme's interest.

Dooku drew himself up to his full height; for all that he supposedly didn't care to convince them, he took their scorn personally. But as he opened his mouth to defend his ridiculous claims, something caught his attention. Obi-Wan's too. Both turned in surprise. Padme's eyes went to the communications panels along the walls. The lights were not red; an attack was not underway. Instead, they flashed the bright green of an incoming transmission.

Obi-Wan put his hand to his forehead.

"Of all the times," he muttered.

And then he turned on heel, cloak snapping behind him as he walked in the direction Padme now recognized the landing pad lay in.

"What is it?" Padme called.

Dooku chuckled again.

"Jedi have just jumped in system." Padme's heart leapt and he gave her a disdainful look, adding, "The wrong Jedi."

"The ones the Council sent," Padme said in realization. She found herself agreeing with Obi-Wan. This was hardly the time to greet Jedi visitors or navigate the differences in their missions. However, given the state Tipoca City lay in, the Jedi would hopefully be open to Padme and Obi-Wan's side of things.

If not, she stood by every word she had broadcast in her speech.

She set off at a run to catch up to Obi-Wan.

He led her to a landing pad. Bright sunshine streamed in through the glass door, broken into shafts by the gray clouds above. Already a craft was landing, sleek and utterly unlike anything of Trade Federation design. Obi-Wan rocked on his heels before reaching out, keying the door open with his hand.

Dooku's presence was a physical force behind Padme, chivvying her forward. She shot him a brief glare before walking out to join Obi-Wan.

"Who do you think they sent?" Padme asked in an undertone as she pulled even with Obi-Wan. She knew, of course, that he could sense and identify Anakin at a distance – but that was Anakin. She was far less certain that he could pull the same trick with other Jedi, or if the Council had bothered to inform him exactly who they would be sending to follow up on the Kamino lead.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, eyes lifted to watch the gangplank descend from the ship.

"The Council did not say," he replied softly. And he grimaced quite suddenly as the two Jedi came into view – Mirialan women that Padme did not recognize from any of her interactions with the Order. Obi-Wan's gaze drifted over to her and he said from the corner of his mouth, "Luminara."

Padme stiffened.

The woman luring Anakin into a trap on Nal Hutta was the one the Council had sent to work in conjunction with the Trade Federation to investigate an assassin sent to kill Padme herself. She boggled, briefly, at the contradictory thought processes that allowed the Council to enact that plan while sending Padme and Obi-Wan to Anakin.

And then she reevaluated Obi-Wan's relationship to the Jedi Council. Perhaps she had been somewhat harsh, earlier, thinking that his antipathy for them was not well earned.

"I welcome you to Kamino," Dooku intoned. He stepped forward and tossed his cloak over one shoulder, bowing deeply to the Jedi. "You are under my protection, now, Master Jedi Luminara, and I extend all the hospitality of the Free Worlds to you."

Luminara and her apprentice – a girl a handful of years younger than Anakin, perhaps fewer – exchanged a look before bowing to Dooku in return.

"I was not aware you had that authority," Luminara said lightly. "Nor the ships to provide such protection."

There was a glint in Dooku's eyes that Padme did not like.

"I have this facility. I think you'll find that young Skywalker's actions here have made the Kaminoans rather enamored of him – not to mention the clones. However, they are somewhat more truculent with respect to the Trade Federation, at the moment, and all who ally themselves with them."

Luminara's vivid blue eyes flicked over him mildly and then turned on Padme.

"All in the Republic saw your speech, Senator," she began. Her tone was even, and yet Padme detected a note of disapproval. Padme lifted her chin, eyes narrowed at the other woman. "It may have been a rash course of action, speaking so boldly and so soon after distressing events unfolded. We will investigate the matter of Sifo-Dyas – as well as that of the attack. Our Trade Federation guides have much to answer for."

"Is that why they are still in orbit? So they can devise answers?"

"We thought –" the apprentice started. She stopped, looking to her Master for approval. Luminara gestured indulgently and the girl took a deep breath, eyes fixed earnestly on Padme. "We thought it best if they did not meet with you personally. It seemed as if such a meeting would go poorly."

Padme read between the lines and covered her mouth, stifling an unpleasant laugh.

"You brought Nute Gunray here," she said, shaking her head. The smile on her mouth was not at all kind. "You Jedi."

"We wish to resolve this conflict, milady," the apprentice said. She seemed rather affronted by Padme's tone, but didn't know what to do with it. "And to prevent further bloodshed."

Obi-Wan had watched the exchange silently, hanging back, and now stepped forward, cloak drawn around him and expression thunderous.

"I should like to know how you intend to do that," he said nastily. "Now that you have put a clone army within sight of the most avaricious and belligerent of all Republic delegations, all while conspiring against the one man most driven to free them."

The apprentice turned ashen at Obi-Wan's words, looking to her Master for help.

"I believe Kamino is our mission rather than yours, Obi-Wan," Luminara said. She raised a hand, gesturing out to the wreckage of the city. "Would events have occurred as they did had you cleaved to your mandate?"

Obi-Wan's jaw set obstinately.

"If the Council allowed me the freedom to pursue it without interference, I should think the Trade Federation would not have been tipped to exactly where Anakin Skywalker was," he said.

Padme cast a glance to Dooku. Neither she nor Obi-Wan believed for a moment that it could be coincidence that he had brought them here only then for an attack to commence. She knew that Obi-Wan believed all the events unfolding around them to be by Sith design – and so, it was a surprise to hear him blame the Jedi Council directly, rather than the man standing just behind them.

But perhaps it was a shrewd move. There was a cunning look in Obi-Wan's eyes; none of the anger or accusation one would expect from his words. He was prodding the other Jedi, trying to get her to reveal what she knew.

And yet he did not merely come out and ask. Padme did not think it was Dooku's presence stopping him.

Luminara's mouth tightened.

"I cannot explain how it is that they found you," she admitted. "It is possible your message to us may have been relayed to them. I do not believe the Council had a role in that."

"But you have another suspect," Obi-Wan said keenly. He tilted his head to the side, watching her. "Someone else with access."

Luminara's Padawan looked down and then up again, biting her lip.

"The Chancellor," Luminara said, even as her Padawan cringed.

Obi-Wan nodded and Padme felt her gut tighten. Overhead, clouds again darkened the sky, shadowing the group.

"It all fits, does it not?" Dooku put in. "I told you before, Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Senate is in the thrall of a Sith Master."

Luminara gave him a measuring look. A light rain began to fall and her Padawan's mouth twisted into a displeased moue. She glanced to her Master and Luminara smiled softly.

"Of course, Barriss," she murmured. To Dooku, she said, "That is an interesting hypothesis."

Padme tensed, ready to interrupt, but already Luminara had turned away from Dooku.

"I should like to speak to the governor of this world," Luminara said to no one in particular. Her indifferent tone, her dismissive expression, softened for her Padawan. She lay a hand on Barriss's shoulder, guiding her away, without another glance back to Dooku.

Or at Obi-Wan.

He passed a hand over his beard, watching her go.

"At least she has taste in people," he said eventually, looking pointedly over to Dooku.

Dooku tugged on his tunic and strode away. He clearly intended to intercept Luminara, the better to expound upon his theories. Obi-Wan frowned.

"You have a bad feeling about this?" she asked.

He sighed.

Of course, he did.

Padme closed her eyes. She felt utterly drained, yet anxious and sick from worry. The wheels of the plot they were caught in - and now she had no doubt that Obi-Wan was correct, it was Sith - kept turning, never to let them catch their breaths. War loomed, the dead lay down uncleared corridors of the very city she was in, and the man she loved was on his way to his own death, half way across the galaxy.

"We should follow them, shouldn't we?" she asked after a long pause.

"I think not," Obi-Wan said thoughtfully. He shook his head, now certain. "Luminara is not one to act rashly. Dooku will make his case to her and she will consider his words, even as she considers the wreckage of this city. She has a wide perspective, do not worry. I don't think we face any danger from her."

"But Anakin does."

"We have time yet," he told her. His gray eyes had gone soft. He reached out, taking one of her hands between his own. "And will be better acquitted to face this crisis well rested. How are you faring? Has your medicine worn off?"

It hadn't, but he was right. She was hardly in any condition at the moment to hare off after Anakin and she wasn't the sort to do that anyway. Even when she retook Naboo, it was after deliberation and with a solid plan in mind. How would she even help Anakin if she did go?

Padme's gazed toward the broken dome of the city, to the AT-TEs still installed as protection. The wind picked up and fine, cold drops of rain began to fall.

The answer was as obvious as it was despicable.

She forced a smile for Obi-Wan.

"Of course. You are right. I should retire."

"And tomorrow we can plot," Obi-Wan said. There was a wild glint in his eyes, something she barely associated with him. But perhaps where she felt anger and anxiety, he felt anticipation. He saw the beginnings of something very different than she did. His enemies were here and he was quite ready for them.

And despite his words, Padme thought, walking back to the medbay, she didn't think even he distinguished Luminara from Dooku when he counted those enemies.

* * *

Anakin locked himself in Jabitha's heart. He had worked without rest for the past day and half, walking directly from his Delta-6 to the control room without a single word to his crew. He'd calculated the flight path home and silently jumped them out of system. His crew knew well enough to leave him alone when he was in a mood like this. The week after Zygerria had been almost intolerably quiet, for all that Anakin refused to speak to anyone.

So he worked himself to exhaustion and they let him be. He thought he saw Tella through the half-cracked door, dropping off caf and a tray of food that Anakin picked at over the next day.

Threepio he put back together, removing the wires and capacitors that made it possible for him to channel Jabitha's neural network. That wasn't good enough – it was a disservice to them both – and Anakin wouldn't let himself rely on such cheap work-arounds anymore. He would have Threepio and Jabitha both, whole and of their own selves.

He found himself disgusted with what he had done to Threepio and dedicated hours to making sure his own memories would be intact and, after that, polished the droid to a shine he'd never before seen, apology for the misuse.

Threepio slumbered in the corner as Anakin completed Jabitha, silent but for the occasional hiss of pain as a wire sparked unexpectedly.

And when Anakin finished, he leaned against the wall in the communications hub of the Emancipator. Wires tangled around his legs, heat from the computer systems leached into the room, stifling each of Anakin's breaths as it came. He stared at the small burns on his hands, turning them over, studying them as if they were new.

He felt numb.

Sleep did come, eventually, empty and dreamless – he couldn't say he was thankful for that, but to dream of Padme's lips would be even worse than to remember. When he remembered, it was everything at once: love and joy and rejection. Dreaming meant only pieces of the truth and the unfair hope that she would love him back.

Foolish to believe she would. Even more foolish to think, even for a second, Obi-Wan would change for him.

When Anakin woke, he shook the thoughts away, fist clenched until it ached.

No one in the galaxy changed unless he made them. He'd already learned that the hard way. After Nal Hutta, no one would be able to deny that Anakin Skywalker was remaking the galaxy, that it would fold and change and kneel for him alone.

He reached over to where Threepio was slumped, hitting the switch on the back of the droid's neck. Threepio's eyes lit and dimmed, as if blinking.

"Oh. Master Ani?"

"Hey, Threepio. How are you feeling?"

"Quite well," Threepio said, sounding almost surprised at the question. Anakin felt instant guilt. He was as bad as anyone else, just treating Threepio like a thing to be used. Threepio cocked his head to the side, voice high with concern as he asked, "And how are you?"

Anakin let his head thud back against the bulkhead, one leg extended in front of him, the other bent at the knee.

"Fine."

"He's not, you know," Jabitha added.

Anakin lifted his eyes, looking to one of the security cameras in the corner of the room. He wouldn't be turning her off again, dividing her into pieces, not now that she was active, so he assumed he'd just have to get used to her watching him.

It would be good enough, he decided. A replacement for what he couldn't have.

Threepio managed to convey appalled shock with no facial expressions at all.

"Is that true?"

Anakin smiled ruefully.

"Yeah. Sorry, I shouldn't lie to you. Either of you."

"You should not," Threepio said primly. "If you are ill, I can escort you down to the medic. Or perhaps you would like to return home and see your family? They will care for you, Master Ani."

"I'd rather he stay," Jabitha put in. "We can take care of you, Ani. Just us."

Anakin let his gaze fall away from the camera, down to his hands in his lap. For all that he could fix Threepio and Jabitha, he knew they could not fix him. He clenched one hand into a fist, staring at it. The Hutt family conclave had already begun and he was sitting here, brooding like a child.

Making a snap decision, he stood. He pulled his spacer's shirt down, trying in vain to smooth the creases from sleeping in it.

"I'll be fine," he assured his friends. He called to the open air, knowing Jabitha would put him through, "Tella?"

"Yeah, boss?" she sounded torn between relief and trepidation – glad he was contacting someone on the ship, but afraid it was to lash out.

"Start calculating the jump to Nal Hutta and prepare the fleet. I'll be up on the bridge in a moment." To Jabitha, he added, "I need a line down to Tatooine."

"Alright," she said grudgingly.

Anakin flashed a look over his shoulder at the camera, mild concern furrowing his brow.

"Don't be jealous. I still need you more than anyone," he told Jabitha.

A relieved sigh sounded above him and Anakin rolled his eyes. He swung himself out the door and into the corridor, jogging to the turbolift and up to the command deck. The crew stood warily as he entered the bridge and for once Anakin didn't wave them back down.

He did shoot a grin over to Tella, however, and she relaxed her posture – an ex-smuggler who had bounced from one side of the galaxy to the other, working under all manner of captains, she was familiar with formality, discipline, and even cruelty from commanding officers. The crew looked to her as a role model, trying to figure out how to react. Anakin did his best not to be offended by that because he knew that, as much as his crew trusted and respected him, the scars of slavery went far deeper than the loyalty he had earned. With his ex-slave crew, it wasn't even that they didn't trust him, most of the time. They didn't trust themselves, their own instincts. Tella helped, silently smoothing over those tensions.

She walked over to him in long strides, joining Anakin at the forward viewport. Tatooine hung before them, large and round, limned in the bright blue of its atmosphere. The suns were hidden for the moment, the brightest lights coming from their own nearby ships as they formed up for the jump.

The battlegroup was depressingly small, a scattering of freighters and transport ships. Snubfighters teemed around them. Anakin had always preferred fighters with their own hyperspace capabilities, but he didn't exactly buy ships, so he had to make do with whatever he could liberate off a planet he did battle on. Some of the fighters, by necessity, would be staying behind. They couldn't fit into the freighters.

He needed to maintain patrols of the Free Worlds, and yet as he watched the fighters divide themselves up – those that would come to Nal Hutta and those that would stay behind – he felt a painful clutch of anxiety. Too many were staying behind. For those that came with him, it was likely to their own deaths.

Anakin couldn't help but thinking of the ships he'd left behind on Kamino.

More of his people would die because he hadn't brought the clones. Anakin gritted his teeth, dismissing the horrible thought. He had Jabitha now; she would be enough.

"The line is ready," Tella said after a long moment.

Anakin nodded and walked abruptly to the communications console, forcing himself away from the disheartening sight of his fleet.

Owen blinked to life in a small, blue hologram just above a tactical read out. Beru wasn't present and Anakin tried not to feel too relieved. He didn't want to explain that Obi-Wan and Padme wouldn't be making it to that second dinner.

Even pixelated and tiny, Owen managed an impressively disapproving frown. He crossed his arms.

"You're heading out, then?"

"Yes," Anakin said. "Tella is going to relay the patrol schedule to you. I hope you can keep track of it in our absence."

Owen merely raised his eyebrows.

"I'll manage."

Anakin exhaled a tightly held breath. He trusted Owen with his life – they'd been through too much together not to – but he still worried about him. He wasn't trained for any of this and, frankly, didn't want it. He pushed Anakin to retire to Tatooine and give up his cause almost as often as he tried to set Anakin up with local girls.

"If I don't make it back," Anakin began.

"You will," Owen said bluntly. "And if you don't then this all falls apart. They won't follow me, Anakin. I wouldn't even know what to do with them if they did."

Anakin clenched his jaw, nodding silently.

Owen frowned suddenly, eyes set at his own holo projector to the side rather than at his camera as he examined Anakin.

"Where's – "

And Anakin wasn't sure whether he meant Obi-Wan or Padme, but the answer was the same regardless.

"Gone," Anakin said.

"Well, don't let her get to you," Owen said gruffly.

Anakin let his eyes slide shut, wishing Owen was less insightful. Owen had said much the same thing after Zygerria. He remembered Beru's eyes, limpid with sympathy for Anakin, though they had just barely met. It wasn't like that, Anakin told himself. Padme was absolutely nothing like Miraj – she had no cruelty in her, no motive to hurt him.

Except politics, Anakin thought.

"I won't," he told Owen, voice tight. His lips felt bloodless as he lied, "And I'll see you again, brother."

Owen gave him a measuring, dry look.

"You better, or Beru'll have my head."

The holo blinked out and the crew no longer had to feign deafness. Tella walked to Anakin, hands on her hips.

"We're making it back alive," she told him.

Her eyes were brown flecked with gold and they gleamed in the light of the flickering control boards. She'd been with him since Nar Shadda. She should be able to recognize a suicide mission when she sees it, Anakin thought idly.

"Our contact on Nal Hutta assures us the defense grid will be down," she continued.

Anakin nodded. For all that they didn't have the numbers he wanted – that Dooku had promised – he though they'd be able to make landfall, at least. Tella pointed to the raw data streaming past on one of the screens: it represented the tabulated probabilities on different coded scenarios. Anakin remembered running them himself. Tella froze the console, pointing to one line. Frontal assault.

"Risky," he said.

"No more than anything else. You and I both know the Hutts command no loyalty from their guards. We don't have the people to sneak around and pick off every security detail the Hutts have brought with them."

"And without the planetary defense, they won't have anything else working in coordination."

Tella nodded.

"Their numbers are misleading. They'll be stepping on each other – kriff, shooting at each other, even. I'm not saying we go in as ourselves..."

Anakin smiled wryly.

"That was never the plan. Not like we have uniforms."

Tella tapped her lip thoughtfully.

"We're not going to have any of their security codes down on the surface, are we?" Anakin shook his head. Luminara's tip off had led him to direct contact with Ziro and while the Hutt was willing to drop the grid for them, he neither had access to nor inclination toward giving out the personal security codes of his fellow Hutts. Tella shrugged indifferently. "We'll fake it."

Anakin felt his fear melt away, replaced by a kind of feral joy. This was what he was best at.

"Hasn't failed us yet."

Tella caught his eyes, a hint of that same predatory eagerness on her own face, though she concealed it better than he did.

"We blaze past their orbital defenses while they're offline," Anakin said. He pulled up a holo of Nal Hutta, gesturing at their landing point, "And then we assault the conclave, strafing the meeting hall from above before hitting them with a ground assault to clean up the remnants. The Hutts themselves will probably survive the initial assault."

"They'll go to ground as soon as we jump in system."

"Right. We need to prevent any ships from lifting off while we land. That's down to you and Jabitha. I want you two to talk that out on the way over."

Tella frowned slightly and Anakin suddenly remembered that he had explained Jabitha to Padme, not her. His stomach twisted and he pushed the feeling away.

"Who's Jabitha?"

"Your friend," Jabitha said lightly. "I hope."

Tella jumped at the sound, casting suspicious looks around. Anakin placed a hand on her shoulder but it did nothing to calm the disquiet on her face. She inhaled loudly, staring back at him.

"Trust me," Anakin told her.

She nodded slowly.

"Always, boss."

He glanced over to the pilot, a young Wookiee. He signaled with his hand and Rollokaa pulled the lever. The stars streaked in the viewport and, for the first time in days, Anakin felt centered.

* * *

Sorry for not replying individually to reviews, but life got weirdly hectic. I appreciate all of you, though, and I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! 3


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